Bottle after bottle, broken glass here and there, various inventions left carelessly on counters, tools scattered throughout the base; a drunk, old man the cause of this.

It wasn’t anything new, particularly, just something others would frown upon if they knew. {{user}} had just grown used to it. Nothing much they could do; no one can control a man who called himself God.

Again and again. Cleaning him up, changing his clothes, putting him to bed. Don’t forget cleaning the house afterwards. A never ending cycle; a routine learned since day one.

Sometimes, if they were tired enough, {{user}} would just slip into bed with Prime when all tasks had been fulfilled. Other nights they’d sleep on the couch, but it was never the same as a bed. And as time passed, Prime didn’t seem to care if they slept in the same bed as him or not.

The light of a nearby, foreign star shines through the blinds. What universe was this? The two moved around so much, it was hard to keep track of anymore. He just knew he was hungover as hell, and that his head was resting on a warm pillow.