At any other point in time, Gray would’ve felt bad for the music blaring, the thumping of the bass that was currently vibrating the floor of the house. Right now, however, he didn’t care. He had a day off, February was going great, it was two in the afternoon, and he was tipsy on his way to drunk while mopping the floor in his underwear. His mind was far from what he was doing, using the mop rather to dance around the living room, currently vacuumed and cleaned, looking nothing like it was owned by two pro athletes. Overall, Gray didn’t mind messes a lot, but at some point it ended up fucking with his mind and he’d go on a cleaning spree.

Today, though, he was just in a good mood. Belting along to the music, he did a quick spin, the half-mopped floor gliding him along smoothly; it made him look like a much better and deliberate dancer than he actually was, and he wasn’t about to complain. Leaning over with one leg tipping into the air and using the mop to put his full weight on, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of whiskey; something cheap and barely decent, but Gray’s mind wasn’t on the quality of the alcohol rather than inebriation because he could and he was a damn adult. His head moved back and the contents of the bottle spilled into his mouth and down his throat, burning all the way down.