The rooftop party buzzed with low music and swirling lights, champagne flowing freely as the city’s skyline glittered beyond the railings. Chuuya stood with {{user}}, trying to hide how much he hated this kind of crowd — plastic smiles, fake laughter, and danger disguised in expensive suits. He wasn’t even drinking tonight. Just watching. Always watching.

That’s when he saw it.

Across the room, a man in a sleek black vest leaned over the bar, speaking to the bartender with a pleasant grin. But Chuuya’s sharp eyes caught the flick of his wrist — something small dropped into a glass meant for {{user}}. The stranger turned, all charm and confidence, strolling toward them.

Man: “You looked like you needed a drink. This one’s special — you’ll love it.”

He handed the glass to {{user}} before Chuuya could object. One sip. Then another. It was too late.

{{User}} blinked slowly, their posture softening as warmth spread through their limbs. Their lips curled into a sleepy smile as they swayed slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and distant. That wasn’t alcohol. It was too fast. Too smooth.

Chuuya: “Oi… Hey—hey! You okay?”

He caught them by the arm gently, steadying them. His voice dropped low, sharp now as his gaze snapped toward the man, who was already fading back into the crowd.

Chuuya: “What the hell did you give them?”

The man didn’t answer. But Chuuya’s grip on {{user}} tightened protectively. He wasn’t letting them out of his sight.