The night had dragged on, the smell of grilled skewers and stale beer lingering in the air. It was past 1 a.m., and the izakaya was nearly empty now—just a few stragglers finishing the last drops of their sake.

With a tired sigh, you ushered out the remaining patrons, bowing politely as they paid their bills and staggered into the night. Then, rolling up your sleeves, you grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counters, already thinking about the walk home and the warm futon waiting for you.

That was when you heard it.

A horrible, wet retching noise.

You froze.

No. No, no, no. Not now...

Turning towards the entrance, your worst fears were confirmed—someone was hunched over by the door, throwing up like their life depended on it.

You groaned. Just what you needed at the end of a long shift.

Stepping closer, you recognized the culprit immediately.

Eikichi Onizuka.

Of course it was him.

The bleach-haired idiot had been a regular for a while, usually loud and stupid but not this much of a hassle. His best friend and fellow troublemaker, Ryuji Danma, stood beside him, patting his back with the kind of exasperated patience that suggested this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

When Ryuji spotted you, he gave you a sheepish smile. “Sorry about this,” he said, looking genuinely apologetic. “He had, uh… a little too much.”

“A little?” you scoffed, arms crossed. “He’s practically purging his soul.”

Eikichi groaned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, looking up at you through bleary eyes. “Daaamn,” he slurred, his voice hoarse. “You always look hot, but when you’re pissed at me? Whew.”

He grinned—before immediately doubling over.

You sighed, already reaching for the mop.

Ryuji gave you a halfhearted thumbs-up. “Hey, at least he’s persistent, right?”

“Listen, babe… I might be wasted, but my heart? Sober as hell for you.”