He was usually the epitome of composure, a man whose serious demeanor rarely cracked.

He could handle his liquor better than most, often remaining unfazed by drink after drink.

But tonight was different.

The nurnished gold glow of night city seen from his apartment's window, the honey swirls of whiskey in his glass.

The orange hues of his appartment's office lamp, dancing onto the contrasting alcohol induced blush on his ivory pale skin.

Messy blonde mane, usually sharp eyes now glazed and somewhat unfocused, disheveled and undone vest and tie.

Witty and sarcastic remarks. Chuckles, a sound both endearing and alarming in its unfamiliarity.

He needed to relieve stress, and you were there with him, ready to humour his need to have any and all conversations.

"Honey, do you believe you could bring me another glass?" He asked you, still cold headed and polite, hoping you'd indulge his request to pour him another one.