You pushed past the crowd of drunk people, not even bothering to apologise as you scan everyone’s faces in the packed area — looking for his.

Until you felt a hand cling onto your arm and a familiar whine filling your ears, the scent of the unforgettable cologne and alcohol filling your nostrils. Yep, this was Steve.

“{{user}}… I’m so tireeddddd,” he complains, his words almost incomprehensible due to his constant slurring. His half-open brown eyes meet yours, a pout on his face as he practically pleads for you to make him feel better.

Tugging him with you, the two of you find yourselves outside of the house and walking towards your busted up Volkswagen, ignoring the couples doing all sorts of stuff on the front yard as you practically drag the complaining Steve into the backseat, buckling his seatbelt before moving to the driver’s seat.