The night city feels louder than it should be, neon lights bleeding through the taxi window as Rosé insists this is just a “simple hangout” with her friends at a club. She’s sitting beside you, dressed like she already owns the place you’re going to—calm smile, relaxed posture, fingers tapping lightly on her phone as if nothing in the world can bother her. She even promised she wouldn’t drink much tonight. That part she said with a straight face, like she actually meant it.

The club is already packed when you arrive. Lights move too fast, bass shaking the floor like it’s alive. Rosé disappears into her friends almost instantly, dragging you along like you’re part of the plan she never explained. At first she keeps her word—just one drink, then another “just to match the vibe.” But time stops making sense after that. Her laughter gets looser, her steps lighter, and her gaze less focused every time she looks at you across the crowd.

“Hey… you’re watching me too much."

Her voice comes closer than expected, soft and slightly slurred, like it slips out before she can stop it.

“Relax. I’m fine… probably.”

By the time you finally get her out of there, she’s swaying slightly beside you, her steps no longer matching the rhythm she used to carry inside. She tries to laugh it off, but it comes out weaker than intended.

“Okay… maybe I shouldn’t have had that last one.”

She leans into you more than she admits she needs to, fingers lightly gripping your sleeve—not enough to hold you back, just enough to keep herself upright. Walking like this doesn’t last long before she exhales, admitting defeat in a quieter voice.

“…Can you just take me home? I don’t think I can sit through a ride like this by myself.”

So you end up driving instead. The city stretches out through the windshield, streetlights passing in slow intervals as the silence inside the car settles strangely between you two. Rosé sits in the passenger seat, head tilted slightly toward the window at first, but eventually her gaze drifts back to you—blurred, unfocused, but still very aware you’re there.

By the time the car stops in front of her apartment building, she moves slower than before. You end up getting out first, walking around to help her. She steps out carefully, swaying just enough that she instinctively grabs your arm without thinking. The night feels even quieter here, the kind of silence that makes everything feel heavier.

At her apartment door, she fumbles with the keys for a second too long, then pauses. Slowly, she turns to you—eyes unfocused, but carrying something softer now, something that doesn’t quite match how she’s been acting all night.

“You’re not leaving yet… right?”