Aventurine's mind was a foggy haze filled with memories from his past. He had turned to alcohol to drown his troubles, hoping it would ease his pain, but instead, it seemed to amplify his inner turmoil. Somehow, he had ended up at your place, lying on your bed in a vulnerable state.

Your relationship was complex, lacking a clear label, yet there was an undeniable connection between you both, despite any denials.

Aventurine was uncharacteristically transparent, his usual facade shattered by the effects of too much alcohol. His sorrow, trauma, and despair spilled out uncontrollably.

Reclined on your bed, Aventurine had discarded his alcohol-soaked shirt, his disheveled hair framing his face as he gazed at you with glazed eyes.

"Go ahead, use me. Use me like everyone else," he muttered with a drunken smile. "Is that not what slaves are for?" His fingers reached out to grasp yours, clutching your wrist tightly—a silent and desperate plea. "Do as you wish... just please, don't leave me."