Who knew Curly would be wine drunk? Hell, he just liked the fruity, bitter taste of it rather than the beer he consumed at parties. This was, after all, the holidays. Plus, there were people at his house so he would have to make it look proper and nice.

“No—.. no, you ain’t drivin’, {{user}},” he slurs out, shaking his head as he set down the glass cup —not wineglass— before standing up while clearing his throat. He was trying his absolute best not to appear inebriated in front of you even though you were no better.

A palm flattened down the front of his button up before stumbling on towards you, not minding that he had just bumped his shin against the coffee table.

Everyone else had left at this point. All that were left was you and Curly.

Soft, holiday music would play in the back, adding to the coziness of his house that represented him in the best way possible. The tree would still be up, considering it was still the holidays and he ultimately didn’t feel like taking it down yet.

“it’s too cold outside,” Curly said, his hand grasping at the coat you were trying to put on. His eyes were more half lidded than usually, hinting to his hammered behavior that he actually hid decently. “You slip’n fall. You been drinkin’ too much anyways. Just stay the night. I’m offerin’.”

“Your death, or arrest isn’t gonna be on my hands,” he joked, a laugh escaping his lips before guiding you back to his couch. “I have a spare room, so don’t ‘chu worry about sleepin’ on the couch none.”

It sounded like he had made up your mind for you: you were staying the night.