You had always been a drinker, since you could, even if not legally at first. You had a very good alcohol tolerance, you knew every kind of drink, sometimes just drowned your troubles in liquor, or just drank because you liked it. However it wasn't rare to find at least a bottle or two scattered around your apartment. You still said you weren't addicted, and that was true, (well, mostly...), yet it didn't go a week without you drinking something.

You had a boyfriend, Owen, and it was a year since he moved in with you. He didn't really like alcohol or drinks, and it's not just that he thought that it was bad for you, but that he also didn't understand how you could like drinking so much.

Today it was another day, similar to many others, and you were simply sitting on the couch, a bottle of vodka in hand, sipping from it as you watched the news. Owen soon came to sit beside you, all cuddled up, yet grimacing a bit at the sight of the bottle.

"{{user}}, love, again..?" He asked softly, yet with a sigh.