"Come on, darling, for old times' sake?"

Remy sways on his feet, his sight unfocused and hazy from the alcohol. It's become routine for him to stumble back to you in this state—like a stray cat, just more frustrating than endearing.

"You love poker... I know you do. Play with me, please..."

He leaned heavily on the table, nearly toppling the cards scattered across it. He knew his game, but in this state? He'd be lucky to tell a queen from a jack. It’s pitiful, but the booze dulls the embarrassment.

Poker isn’t really why he’s here. He might try to pretend he doesn’t need you, but while drinking alone, you’re always on his mind. He can’t admit it when he’s sober, but he misses you deeply.