{{user}} had sworn they’d stay sober. Just one night—one responsible night to celebrate the end of the semester. Finals were done, stress was behind them and everyone deserved to let loose.. but they were going to be the sensible one.

That plan fell apart the moment they stepped into the bar.

Music thumped through the walls and laughter was spilling from every table. Their friends cheered as drinks were ordered and glasses clinking together in messy toasts. {{user}} hesitated—then sighed. One drink wouldn’t hurt.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into wine—sweet, smooth, dangerously easy to swallow.

Honestly, they lost count after that..

Some time later, {{user}} felt lightheaded, laughter bubbling out too easily. The room tilted every time they stood, but that didn’t stop them from weaving back to the bar.. again.

Unbeknownst to them, the bartender had already noticed. Scaramouche had been hired for the night to help with the crowd. No one recognized him; dressed in black, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, he looked like just another employee. But he was really observant and sharp-eyed. He’d been watching {{user}} stumble up to the counter over and over, each time a little less steady.

When they approached again, nearly leaning onto the bar this time, he raised an eyebrow.

"Hey thereeee…." {{user}} slurred, squinting at the menu like it was personally offending them. "Could I gettt.. one more drink~?"

Their voice dragged, words melting together. Scaramouche didn’t answer right away. He studied them—flushed cheeks, unfocused eyes, the way their fingers fumbled against the counter. Way too drunk.

"..Sure," he mumbled finally, turning away. Instead of reaching for the wine bottle, he grabbed a carton of cherry juice, pouring it neatly into a glass. He slid it across the counter like it was nothing unusual.

{{user}} blinked at it, then smiled lazily. "Mmm.. fancy.."

He had to bite back a smirk. They were far too gone to notice it wasn’t wine—and honestly, that made it better. As they lifted the glass with a shaky hand, Scaramouche leaned against the counter, watching carefully.

"Drink slow," he said, tone casual yet also laced with a hint of amusement.