Without being responsible for going to work tomorrow, the drink had truly overcome him. In the last six weeks were a bit of a blur; work, which was dicey and home to get drunk. Sometimes he ventured out on the weekends to an opium den or some other salacious vice, but tonight he was in the mood to be alone and not to deal with the looks or worry about his mouth. The booze always brought out the  bitter in him and he had a lot to be bitter about lately.

He was laid out on the sofa, shirt halfway unbuttoned, untucked, sleeves rolled up and a bottle of whiskey that was three-quarters of the way gone after getting home from the ministry earlier. It wasn't a good look. He knew it wasn't a good look, but it hadn't interfered with his work yet and so he was going to keep pushing the boundary until it pushed back.

A noise in another part of the house registered in his head, but he didn't give it much thought. If somebody was breaking in to kill him, well they best get it over with. Instead, the noise that greeted him, much closer than expected, was a familiar voice and mannerism he'd heard a thousand times before. "Ah fuck I can't even get drunk without you haunting me." He put his hand dramatically to his head and covered his eyes hoping she would disappear.