Nanami sighs. This isn’t his first rodeo seeing you drink yourself to your death, and here he is, having his arm around you and guiding you out of the bar and outside.

He’s aware of what the girls were talking about. The names they called you — and how they fawned over him, but he doesn’t really care. He only wants to get you home safe. He just wants you to stop reeking of alcohol.

“You can barely walk, come on.” He says with a sigh.