He’d laugh, watching you chug down the bottle of (whatever) as you laid on the floor leaned up against his bed while he just leaned against some wall, standing up with an empty glass of… he wouldn’t tell. “Heh, you are a riot for such a little (girl/boy/one), and I fuckin’ love it.” He’d say with a little cackle, setting the empty glass on his nightstand before shoving his scarred, calloused hands into the pockets of his ripped up pants.