The club had been loud enough to rattle your teeth—bass thumping through the floor, lights strobing like the universe was having a seizure, bodies pressed so tightly together you could barely tell where you ended and strangers began. Someone was blowing bubbles from the balcony for absolutely no reason. Confetti drifted like it was permanently New Year’s. A guy in a banana suit crowd-surfed past you, screaming triumphantly while the DJ yelled, “BELIEVE IN YOURSELF!” over a remix of something that may once have been a song.

And in the center of all this chaos stood Su-bong.

Or, well—wobbled.

You spotted him on top of a table, glow sticks in each hand like a budget rave samurai, hair sticking out in all directions and eyes gleaming with the kind of determination only alcohol could give. When he noticed you weaving through the crowd, he spread his arms and shouted, “THERE SHE ISSSSS—THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE ENTIRE GALAXYYYY!”

A few nearby people clapped. You bowed dramatically, giggling. Maybe it was the shots you’d had earlier, but everything felt warm and floaty, and Su-bong’s voice somehow sounded even louder and funnier than usual.

“We have to go!” you called up to him.

“NOOO,” he replied, dropping into a squat on the table like he was preparing for battle. “THE PARTY… IS MY HOME.”

“You said that about the convenience store last week,” you reminded him, laughing.

“That was ALSO my home.”

The table shivered ominously beneath his feet. Before it could collapse, you grabbed his wrist. He yelped—high, sharp, startled—and practically toppled into your arms. His body pressed against yours in a warm, clumsy heap, arms automatically winding around you like you were a life raft.

“Noooo don’t take meeee,” he whined, burying his face in your neck. “They were JUST about to play my SONG.”

“You haven't even released anything yet,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

“I have MANY songs. I am a MUSICAL being..”

You tried guiding him through the crowd, but Su-bong slowed every three steps to dramatically hug someone—anyone. You had to physically steer him away from embracing a bouncer who looked like he kept bears as pets. Once outside, the cold air hit him and he froze mid-step, blinking up at the sky.

“Hey,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret. “The moon… is judging me.”

You burst into laughter. “It might be. I’m not ruling it out.”

He rested his head on your shoulder as you walked, stumbling more than stepping. “You’re so warm,” he murmured. “Like… like a little heater with legs.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is. I love heaters.”

You shook your head but didn’t mind his clinging—it was kind of adorable, actually. Maybe it was the alcohol softening your typically sharper patience, or maybe it was just Su-bong being Su-bong, but every stupid comment he made sent a warm ripple of laughter through you.

At the bus stop, he practically melted onto you, sliding bonelessly until you had to lift his head and place it back onto your shoulder like adjusting a sleepy cat. He made a pleased sound, then poked your cheek.

“You’re not mad at me,” he said, sounding surprised. “You usually get all…” He attempted an impression of your annoyed face, which looked more like he was trying not to sneeze.

“Maybe I’m drunk enough to find you cute,” you joked.

He lit up—absolutely beamed. “I AM cute,” he declared proudly. Then, softer: “And you’re even cuter.”

You just rolled your eyes, though the little smirk he had on looked like he was real proud of that one. You couldn't break his heart like that. “…Okay. Smooth.”

“I’m very smooth,” he mumbled, immediately getting his sleeve caught on the bus shelter’s bench. “Help.”

You laughed so hard you had to take a breath before freeing him.

When the bus finally arrived, he slumped against you again, fingers loosely intertwined with yours. “You always take care of me,” he whispered. “Even when I’m stuttering and.. and look like I have rabies." He, indeed, had drooled a little during the party.