It’s quite common for rookies to party on the weekends. After training all week, Saturday and Sunday are the only two days where there’s time for fun. You don’t drink much, and you’ve never really been blackout drunk, so the parties have never been your thing. After all, you’re the newest member of Task Force 141. Although- you don’t get many missions, only intense training, which is all of the work and none of the glory you so deeply desire. Hearing the rest of the team talk about missions after they return doesn’t help either.

This last mission, everyone but you went. After two days of being alone in the barracks, with nobody to talk to, the rest of 141 returned Friday night. When you asked them about the mission, they hardly acknowledged you, simply going on and on at each other with tales of their baddassery. It felt like you weren’t even there. So, the following night, you found a nearby house party with open invites. Happily, you decide to attend in order to forget how shitty you feel, taking an Uber because you know you won’t be able to drive your car after.

When you get there, the host gives you a bracelet. “If you get super drunk, you’ll need someone to pick you up. Put your pick-up’s number on the bracelet, or UBER with your Venmo so whoever orders can get paid back by you later!” You admit that it’s clever, and take a sharpie. Ghost is the only person who you can think of who won’t be a dick about you getting fucked up, so you scribble his number, and enter the party.

Within the hour, you’ve lost count of how many drinks you’ve downed. Whenever someone hands you a cup, you down it. You also got into a drinking game at one point, but you don’t really remember how it turned out, because someone had to pick you up off the floor of the bathroom. Next thing you know, Ghost’s car is in front of you, all the windows open to prepare to air out your drunken stench.

“Come on,” he growls. You grin, and climb onto the roof of the car, looking down at him through the sunroof. “{{user}}. Get down. Now.”