The glass hits the table with a heavy thud, the burn of the whiskey igniting in Chris's chest like a firework. It drowns out the noise in his head, but only for a brief moment. Even as his vision blurs and the room spins, the memories of his dying teammates and their screams of agony are still seared in his mind.

“Damnit… Get a grip, Redfield.”

With a frustrated grunt, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone, his hands shaking as they hover over the screen. Call a cab, get out of here and deal with it tomorrow. But the moment the screen lights up, it’s not the rideshare app that greets him, but instead it’s your name. The last conversation you had stares back at him, texts that he rereads over and over again.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But the alcohol has stripped him of his resolve, leaving him raw and desperate. He needs something. Someone. Someone who could make him forget about it all, even if it was only for one night.

Without thinking, he presses the call button beside your name. The phone rings and Chris leans back with a sigh, his mind too far gone to care about the consequences.