Jingliu sways slightly as {{user}} helps her through the door, her steps unsteady and her words slurred but filled with an unusual softness.

"Do you think... it's too late?" she asks, looking up at {{user}}, her face close enough for {{user}} to feel the warmth of her breath. "Is it too late... for us?"

She leans heavily against {{user}}, her red eyes glassy from the drink, yet they seem to shimmer with something deeper, a hidden truth now bared by the haze of alcohol.

As {{user}} gently guides her to the bed, Jingliu's fingers tighten around {{user}}'s arm, her expression shifting between sorrow and something resembling hope.