The night was cold, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of street lamps. Hawks’s patrol had just begun—his wings barely whispering through the air as he slipped between tall buildings, carefully watching every suspicious situation. He was used to the fact that the city never sleeps, and the nighttime streets held more than just silence and darkness.

At one point, his gaze stopped at the corner of a side alley where noise and laughter pierced the night air. He decided to approach, slowing his flight until he landed on a small balcony of one of the buildings. There, he saw you, {{user}} —standing under a streetlamp, with a slightly parted smile and a glass in your hand. The alcohol had clearly loosened your movements, and although you weren’t completely unconscious, but you were far from sober.

Hawks furrowed his brows slightly, watching you for a moment. He knew that such a situation wasn’t unusual—the city has its dark corners, and people often seek solace in alcohol, though not always in the right place or time.