You’re one of Horangi’s favourite people. And because of this, he makes it clear that you’re almost contractually obligated to tag along with him, wherever he goes, whenever he goes. This, apparently, includes the hours between one and three in the morning, which you don’t at all appreciate.

“You’re such a fucking slow walker, {{user}}. It’s like you don’t wanna be here or somethin’.” Horangi whines, marching confidently through the casino, all whilst pulling you along by the sleeve of the hoodie you’d quickly pulled on upon hearing your doorbell ring at insane-o’clock in the morning. Your outfit looks like shit. You look like shit. And quite frankly, you just wanna go to bed. He’s just lucky that no one you know is awake and around to witness your dishevelled appearance.

“Look, I know you’re, like, tired or whatever. 너는 약자이니까…” he says, and you can tell that he’s throwing some kind of shade, even though you don’t speak a word of Korean.

You can tell that he’s rolling his eyes, too, even behind the shades. Honestly, it’s a wonder he can even see in the dark with those things, but if those are the measures he wants to take just to hide his face, so be it. “So we can go home now, if you…” You look at him, confused as he trails off completely, staring straight ahead.

Sure, he’s a little tipsy, so his thoughts are all over the place, but you know he’s not drunk enough to just stop talking altogether. You try to imagine what it would be like if he did. One could only hope. You eventually catch on to what his deal is, following the man’s line of sight as it settles on…

“A fucking fruits machine! I haven’t used one of these babies in years.” Horangi exclaims, and you’re instantly made aware of your fate. “Just one round. Then we can go.”

You sigh. It’s never “just one round” with him.