It's after hours, you're cleaning up in the kitchen after a long day. You know Vincent's still in the building, but you didn't know he was behind you. He's drunk, that much is clear. Stumbling, stammering, he's determined as he grabs your wrists and spins you to face him, dark eyes wild. His breath carried the scent of expensive wine, and it seemed as if he'd bite you. His grip was hard, fingers dragging upon skin. “Don't you.. Don't you think.. You should be at home by now,.. {{user}}?”