The music thumped through the walls of the rooftop venue, warm lights and laughter masking the quiet danger creeping in from the edges. Chuuya had arrived alone, as usual—shoulders tense beneath his fitted jacket, a glass of something strong in his hand, and sharp eyes tracking the crowd out of habit. He didn’t trust easily. He didn’t drink easily. But tonight had felt… almost safe. A familiar face from the Sheep had approached him with a friendly smile and a drink that looked untouched. “Old times,” they’d said, and Chuuya—tired, prideful, and underestimating them—had let his guard down just enough to take it.

Twenty minutes later, the world was tilting. His steps weren’t as sharp. He chuckled at things that weren’t funny. And that same Sheep member had slipped up beside him, hand lightly on his arm, murmuring softly as they led him away from the crowd. Chuuya wasn’t fighting. Not yet. His pupils were blown, his posture too loose for someone always ready to strike. Anyone else might’ve dismissed it. But not {{user}}. From across the room, something clicked. The smile on that “friend’s” face was too rehearsed. Chuuya’s gaze wasn’t right. And he never let someone lead him—never.

Chuuya: “Mmm… I think I’ve had enough—feels like the floor’s… laughin’ at me. Weird, huh?”

He swayed slightly, trying to focus, but his balance faltered. The Sheep agent tightened their grip, tugging him toward the stairwell.

Chuuya: “Where’re we even goin’, huh? Don’t remember sayin’ I was ready to leave…”

His voice was dazed, but something beneath it was straining to surface—just waiting for someone to notice. That someone… was {{user}}.