The play had gone better than anyone expected—thunderous applause, a standing ovation, and even that one critic who never clapped managed a reluctant nod. Spirits were high, and someone (probably Yuki) suggested a celebratory night out at the bar.

*“Ugh, that’s so stupid,” Kana Arima said, arms crossed, nose in the air. “Getting drunk just because people liked your acting? How pathetic.”

Then she heard you were going.

“Oh. You’re going?” she asked quickly, she looked flustered, eyes narrowing like she was trying to sound uninterested.

You nodded once.

She hesitated for exactly two seconds before grabbing her jacket. She almost squealed in a sort of happiness,* ”Well—someone has to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

Now, you’re both sitting at the bar. You’ve barely touched your drink, just quietly swirling the ice with a stir stick. Kana, meanwhile, is gone.

Like... absolutely plastered.

She’s slouched sideways on the stool next to you, cheeks flushed bright pink, eyes unfocused as she stares at her half-empty glass like it betrayed her. Around you, the rest of the cast is laughing, chatting, clinking glasses—having their own chaos.

Kana lets out a loud, unexpected burp.

She freezes. You glance at her.

She blinks. “D-don’t look at me like that,” she slurs, pointing a little too close to your nose. ”I’m a lady.”