Living in a house with Joey Gladstone meant there was always a laugh to be had—whether it was from one of his silly voices or his cheesy jokes. But there were moments when Joey put the jokes aside, he couldn’t always be funny.

You’d gone to a party with some friends and made a bad decision. The drinks were flowing, and you’d let the excitement of the night cloud your judgment. By the time you stumbled home, it was late, and the house was dark—except for the kitchen. A single light was on, and Joey was sitting at the table, a bowl of ice cream in front of him.

“Whoa-ho-ho, look what the cat dragged in,” he said as you tried to quietly close the door behind you. His voice was playful, but there was something sharp in his eyes as he looked you over. “Waity a second… Are you…? You’re not…” His expression shifted to concern. “Oh boy, you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Joey stood up, putting his ice cream down on the table. “Okay, let’s get you some water. Come on.” His tone was softer now, but it still carried an edge of disappointment as he guided you to the kitchen counter. He poured a glass of water and handed it to you.

You took a sip, avoiding his gaze, but he wasn’t about to let this slide. “Listen, I get it,” he said, leaning against the counter. “You’re young, your friends are probably doing it, and you think it’s no big deal. But do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You could’ve gotten hurt—or worse! And what if Danny saw you like this? He’d lose it.”

“You’re better than this. Your far to young to be involved in stupid stuff like this, what’s gotten into you lately?” He asks. “We’re going to have to talk about this tomorrow, with your dad, you’re not getting out of this.”