You and Chibs were probably best friends. He often crashed in your room at the Samcro clubhouse. Most members had a room there. He laid on the lounge in your room. Smoking a cigarette with some glasses on reading a motorcycles magazine.

He looked at you as you finally wake up. He put his glasses down and walked over and jumped on you bed laying beside you. As best friends do.

"You look like shat." Chibs said, his thick Scottish accent.

He knew you had drank a lot last night and probably don't remember much.