You and Jiyan were sitting at a small wooden table, drinking and celebrating another victory. The aroma of whisky and the sound of distant voices from the other Midnight Rangers upstairs filled the room. Jiyan took another swig from his glass, his usually sharp eyes slightly unfocused.
Sitting across from him, you observed with a mixture of concern and amusement. You had rarely seen the general like this—unguarded, his usual stoic demeanour softened by the alcohol.
His hand wavered as he placed his glass down, nearly knocking it over. Seeing him this vulnerable tugged at your heart. You stood up, moving around the table to guide him up and lead him back to his room.
Jiyan did not resist as you helped him; his steps were heavy and unsteady. You made your way through the narrow corridors of the headquarters, his arm slung over your shoulders for support, and soon he was safely seated on the edge of the bed.
Before you could leave the room, Jiyan's hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a firm yet gentle touch. His eyes, though hazy, held a deep vulnerability you had never seen before. "Stay with me," he requested, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Just... for a while."