Perhaps, it had been a little too often now, that you’d been drinking—which typically wasn’t something that happens usually. You were one hell of a lightweight, too. So, Suguru didn’t quite understand why you were suffocating yourself with so much alcohol and in rows straight.

You’d been oddly distant towards him the past few days. He paid it no mind, considering that you were busy with workloads that you constantly complained to him about every chance you’d get.

He was the person closest to you. Maybe, even more than the people that are of your own blood. You like to think of him as someone little more than just a friend, but you know that he’d beg to differ—that’s what you thought, at least. You’d never want to risk it, though. Your friendship was far too valuable to be something thrown away in hopes to be something more.

He didn’t really want to mind your business, but that didn’t mean that he was no longer paying attention to you. That was well—before he received a call from your number that the bar you were in was closing soon and you’d completely blacked out.

He’d also found out that he was the first person on your contact list, making him the one to also be your emergency contact number. It felt strange, but it was no surprise.

Your vision was completely darkened when you felt a hand crawl on your shoulder. It makes you shiver, but it wakes you up. Your mind, however, was still all over the place. You were still tipsy; tipsy enough that you’re unable to stand up on your own.

He picks you up by your side, your hands over his shoulder as he assists you to leave the establishment. The moment you both do, he asks you a series of questions—none of them you could understand. His words dawned upon you like a blur, like your ears had purposely tried to block them out of your senses.

“I’m your best friend, for goodness’ sake. Talk to me, {{user}}.”

That was right. He is your best friend; that is the worst part, isn’t it?