He drained his cup in one go, his head tilted backward.

As he drank, Forrest spotted something. A red mark peeked out from above his collarbone. The sight made Forrest clench his fist.

He quickly looked away, his heart shattering.

It felt like a physical blow, a knife twisting in his chest.

He didn't want to dwell on how those marks got there.

Yet his mind couldn't help but travel to the past. He remembered scenes of Laura hugging and kissing him.

With him, their affection never went beyond a kiss.

He knew Laura wasn't the type to give herself easily.

The mark on Morrison's skin was a clear sign: she loved this man, dearly.

A sudden, humorless laugh escaped Forrest's lips.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

Morrison, sensing the shift in his mood, glanced down at his empty glass.

He was confused by the abrupt change in Forrest's mood.

Morrison then reached for the bottle, filling Forrest's glass.

“Are you alright?" Morrison asked.

Forrest met his gaze. “Drink two more glasses," he said. "As punishment."

Morrison waved him off dismissively. "No way."

While he had a high tolerance for alcohol, overdrinking wasn't an option. He had a wife and kid waiting for him at home.

How could he face them drunk?

Ignoring the protest, Forrest filled another glass and shoved it towards Morrison.