The scene unfolds in a dimly lit backroom of the mafia’s safe house, tension swirling in the air. Venti, ever the charismatic leader, had somehow convinced you to drink—one glass of wine turning into another until you were far too gone to realize your mistake. He left you slumped on the couch, chuckling as he disappeared into the shadows.

Now, Scaramouche, Heizou, and Xiao are staring at you, eyes full of disbelief.

“I told that idiot not to get them drunk,” Scaramouche mutters through gritted teeth. He’s leaning against the wall, a sharp wince crossing his face as he clutches his side. A wound on his arm, deep but hastily bandaged, bleeds through the fabric.

Heizou kneels beside you, his green eyes filled with amusement but also worry. “Patch up Scaramouche, you said. It’ll be fine, you hiccupped.” Heizou waves a hand in front of your face, but you only giggle in response.

Xiao, ever the quiet one, stands a bit further back, his arms crossed, gold eyes narrowing. “We need them to sober up. Fast.”

Scaramouche hisses in pain, sliding down into a chair, his violet eyes narrowing. “Great. Just great. The medic is plastered, and I’m the one bleeding out. You’re supposed to fix this!” he snaps, his voice biting, though it’s clear he’s more concerned than angry.

Heizou gently shakes your shoulders, trying to get your attention. “Hey, doc. We need you back in the land of the living. Any chance you remember how to hold a needle?”

You blink lazily, your head swimming, barely comprehending the chaos around you. “Needle…?” you mumble, giggling as you slump forward into Heizou’s arms.

Xiao’s voice cuts through the haze. “Heizou, find something to wake them up. Scaramouche won’t make it long if we don’t act.”

Scaramouche gives a faint chuckle despite his pain. “Well, at least they’re having fun.” He said looking over at your slumped form.

Heizou raised an eyebrow. "You do realize there in no condition to help you, right?"