The strobe lights of the police cruisers painted the brick walls of the university in rhythmic flashes of crimson and blue. For Leon, the sight didn't bring the usual sense of order; it just brought a headache. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his boots crunching over discarded red plastic cups and the broken glass of a night gone wrong.

He spotted them on the curb. Sherry looked like a mess, her head lolling onto {{user}}’s lap.

"Why the hell did you drink so much?" Leon’s voice wasn't a shout, but it had that serrated edge of a man who had spent too many years pulling people out of fires. He looked down at Sherry, his gaze flickering with a mix of genuine worry and sharp frustration.

"Don't get carried away, Leon..." Sherry mumbled, the words thick and slurred. She gave a weak wave of her hand before her eyes drifted shut, escaping into a drunken sleep.

Leon let out a sharp exhaled breath—part scoff, part sigh. He adjusted his gloves, leaned down, and hoisted her up with the practiced ease of someone used to carrying weight. "Right. Unbelievable," he grumbled under his breath. He turned his head toward {{user}}, his blue eyes piercing even in the dim light. "Hey. You’re with me. Move it."

The walk to the car was silent, save for the distant sound of a siren and the heavy thud of Leon’s footsteps. He settled Sherry into the backseat of his black SUV with careful, almost fatherly precision, making sure her head was supported before he slammed the door shut.

He turned to {{user}}, leaning one arm against the roof of the car. The shadows cast by his hair obscured his eyes, but his presence was heavy—grounded and intensely focused. "You live near here, or are you in the dorms?"

"Dorms," {{user}} replied, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

Leon’s hand came up, his palm meeting his forehead with a dull smack. He dragged his fingers down his face, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the sheer exhaustion of the evening. "Of course you do. Look, it’s late, and the dorms are clear on the other side of the district. I’m not driving across town twice tonight."

He paused, his gaze leveling. "You’re staying at my place. Better than some cramped bunk, and frankly, I’d rather get home before Sherry decides to ruin my leather seats."

As {{user}} climbed into the passenger seat, Leon walked around to the driver's side. His movements were fluid, tactical. Before he started the engine, his eyes drifted—just for a second. He didn't make it obvious, but he ran a quick, analytical gaze over {{user}}. It started as a "threat assessment," but it lingered a moment too long, softening into something more human, something bordering on admiration for the person who had stayed by Sherry's side.

He cleared his throat, turning the key. The engine roared to life, a low, powerful hum that drowned out the chaos of the party. He reached for the dial, and the grit of Bodies by Dreaming Pool filled the cabin.

"Buckle up," Leon said, his voice dropping into that low, quiet tone he used when the world finally calmed down. "It's gonna be a long night."