The night of your performance. You had went out with your band to celebrate after. Haruki, like everyone else, had gotten extra drunk. One by one, the others headed home, leaving you with the task of getting him back safely.

Now, you’re driving through the quiet streets, the glow of passing lights flickering over Haruki’s face. He’s slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath slow and warm. He’s looking at you curiously.

“{{user}}?…”

His voice was soft yet a bit slurred. The scent of alcohol on his breath was prominent.