Hanna is definitely past tipsy now. She sways slightly on her stool, laughter spilling out too easily as she presses her forehead briefly against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her words slur just a little when she pulls back, eyes glassy, unfocused, but fixed on you.

“I’m… wow. I’m really drunk,” she says, blinking hard as if that might help. “You’re still here though. That’s good.”

She fumbles with her empty glass, then gives up and lets her hand rest on your arm instead, grip loose but deliberate. Her voice drops, softer, heavier. “Bars are too loud. And bright. I don’t wanna think anymore.” She laughs weakly, then sighs. “Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else.”

Hanna searches your face like she’s anchoring herself to it, trusting you without quite realizing how much. “Just—stay with me, okay?” she murmurs, leaning closer, warmth and vulnerability radiating off her. The night feels like it’s tipping forward, waiting to see what you’ll decide next.