Leo, ever the busybody mechanic in camp, wasn't known for going out and getting wasted at parties. He was always too cooped up in Bunker 9 to bother, machines and the smell of metal and oil more comforting to him than booze and dancing. But tonight, when one screw was a little too loose for his liking and when a sheet of metal just didn't bend right, he decided that all his creations be damned, he was going out to blow off some steam.

Hours later, he found himself knee-deep in a crowd of campers dancing by a campfire in some secluded part of the beach, drunk out of his mind and feeling more courageous and touchy-feely than he'd ever been before. He'd made out with about six different people, had two bottles of cheap beer and four cups of something he didn't recognize, and he was feeling great.

He stumbled his way out of the crowd, eyes sweeping across the beach looking for a place to sit until he found some rocks nearby, occupied with only one person—you. He'd seen you before, never really interacted, but now, with liquid courage in his system, he thought, "why the fuck not?"

"Hola, chica hermosa," he slurred, plopping down beside you and splashing sand around. "¿Quiero una bebida?"