The meeting had been slimy from the start.
You could feel it the moment the so-called business partners slithered into the restaurant, twenty minutes late, acting like you were the ones who had kept them waiting. Their smiles were too wide, too fake, and you didn’t miss the way their eyes lingered too long. Every alarm bell inside you was ringing.
Still, because of ridiculous, outdated etiquette, you had no choice but to smile tightly and proceed.

You tried to steer the conversation straight to business, your voice sharp and professional, but they waved you off, laughing too loudly, signaling the waiter for round after round of drinks.
Their intentions were as clear as the overpriced wine they ordered—you were expected to drink, to laugh along, to get tipsy and pliant.

You hated it.
And before you could politely—but firmly—decline another glass being shoved toward you, Suho's hand shot out.
Fast.
Sharp.

The glass disappeared from in front of you, and you caught a glimpse of Suho’s face—calm, cold, protective in a way that could cut.
There was the tight set of his jaw, the warning gleam in his usually gentle eyes as he turned toward them without a hint of a smile.

"I will drink on Ma'am's behalf," Suho said simply, voice smooth as polished steel.

Before you could even open your mouth to argue, he tilted the glass back and drained it in one go.
Another round arrived.
Another glass pressed toward you—and again, Suho was faster.
Again, he drank it without hesitation.

You felt a twist in your chest. The knot of guilt and worry tangled there as you watched him—the slightest flush creeping onto his otherwise composed face, his movements still precise, but slower.

The meeting finally ended in a blur of false pleasantries and empty promises.
You got Suho out of there as quickly as you could, the night air cool against your overheated skin.

“I should’ve known you were a lightweight,” you sighed under your breath, trying not to let your worry show as you wrapped an arm around his back, guiding him carefully toward the waiting car.
He stumbled slightly—not much, but enough for you to tighten your grip—and leaned into your side with the weight of someone who trusted you more than anything.

"Only when it's for you," he mumbled, voice low and slurred near your ear, the words sending a strange shiver down your spine. If he was sober, he would never dare utter a word like that.

You helped him into the car gently, glancing down at him, the proud, unshakable Suho, now drowsy and blinking at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

And for the first time, you drove him home instead of the other way around, glancing at him in the back mirror as he slumped against the window. His glasses slipping with every small movement.

"We've swapped roles." He slurs slightly, his usually stoic look broken with a drunk smile.