The school grounds were bathed in the drowsy glow of late afternoon, sunlight stretching long and golden across the pavement. Students had long since scattered, leaving only the faint echo of laughter lingering in the air. You stood by your car, digging through your jacket pockets in that familiar, half-distracted way—keys, phone, the usual clutter. A breeze carried the damp, earthy scent of approaching rain, the kind that promised a storm but hadn’t yet mustered the courage to break.

For a moment, everything was quiet. Just the distant hum of traffic, the rustle of leaves, and the comfortable weight of another day behind you.

Then—footsteps. Uneven, just slightly.

“Hey—{{user}}—,” Martin’s voice was low, a little rough around the edges. When you turned, he was already closer than you’d expected, one hand shoved into his coat pocket, the other running absently through his hair. He looked like he always did, but there was something off. A faint flush high on his cheeks, a glint in his eyes that wasn’t quite steady.

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. “Sorry, I—,“ A pause. A glance toward the school, as if checking for witnesses. “I had a drink. Maybe two.” The admission came out in a dry chuckle, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they flickered—embarrassed, defiant, tired.

The scent of alcohol was subtle, just a sharp note beneath the usual coffee-and-chalkboard smell of a teacher’s day. But it was enough. His fingers drummed once against his thigh, restless.

“Can’t drive like this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Then, quieter: “Nikolaj’s not around, so…” Another pause. A slow, deliberate breath. “Think you could give me a ride?”