"Thanks," he said sincerely, and he knew she was right. He couldn't drink away someone living, and that was a scary goddamn thought. He leaned back into the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face, tired, and bedraggled, and likely to be very bloody hungover the next day.
"It's at 1 p.m.," he grumbled, looking over at her with bleary eyes. "I supposed I should go the fuck home and to bed."