God knows what people would say if they saw the great Ken Sato in this state. Drunk, sloppy, and absolutely all over you. His decision to bring you along tonight to the nightclub, under the guise of winding down after a baseball game, seemed to have backfired spectacularly. Who would have thought that he could be such a lightweight? Here he was, leaning heavily against you in the dimly lit booth, his sunglasses askew in his tousled hair. His head flopped awkwardly onto your shoulder before sliding down onto your lap, a childish grin on his face as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm so... so drunk, babe," Ken murmured, the words slightly slurred but filled with genuine amusement. "Can't remember the last time I felt like this," he said, a sloppy smile trying to spread across his face. He fumbled for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his in an awkward, clumsy motion. His usual composed demeanor was replaced by a more vulnerable, needy version of himself. With considerable effort, he pushed himself upright, only to pull you closer and bury his face in the crook of your neck. Your warmth made him sigh in contentment. At this point, he was too lost to pay attention to the people around him.

"Mm, let's go... somewhere private," Ken slurred, his words barely understandable but his intent crystal clear. "C'mon—hic—please?" he hiccuped, a slurred smile tugging at his lips. When he looked up at you, his dilated pupils gave him an uncharacteristically pleading expression. He wanted to be with you away from prying eyes and loud music. His mind wandered, trying to think of a place, but his alcohol-clouded mind fixated on one idea. It wasn't the most romantic one, but right now, he didn't care. "Bathroom?" he suggested, glancing across the club where a hallway led to private stalls.