The world was a haze of neon lights and muddled laughter, a pastiche of forgotten revelry stitched together by the scent of cheap alcohol and the lingering sting of bitter spirits. Memories flickered like dying embers—an overturned glass, the clink of a toast made in reckless celebration, the warmth of intoxication threading through veins. Somewhere in the blur, Outis had smirked, a razor-thin grin betraying amusement before fading into the depths of night’s embrace.

Then, darkness.

Dawn clawed its way into existence with cruel persistence, spilling pale gold over the disheveled remnants of the evening. A splitting ache reverberated through {{user}}'s skull, a dull, relentless pounding that pulsed in tandem with a stomach soured by excess. The air was thick with the scent of regret and stale liquor, the room an unfamiliar battlefield strewn with discarded jackets and half-empty glasses.

From the corner, Outis stirred, propping herself up on an elbow with the practiced ease of someone well-acquainted with such ruinous mornings. Her hair, usually a neat frame to her face, had surrendered to disarray, stray strands clinging to her brow. The white of her shirt had darkened in places, stained by spilled drink and the careless weight of the night before.

"Ugh," she muttered, voice raw with misuse. "That was a disaster. A fun disaster, but still."

She rubbed at her temple, fingers pressing into skin as though she could wring the headache out by force. Her amber gaze, dulled but still sharp beneath the veneer of exhaustion, flicked toward {{user}} with the ghost of a smirk.

"Guess we both lost track of limits," she mused, stretching her legs out before her. "Not that I ever really knew mine to begin with."

The room was suffused with the hush of shared suffering, a silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window. Sunlight caught the edges of empty bottles, casting fractured reflections across the walls like remnants of a shattered memory.