The bar was loud, pulsing with the energy of victory—golden confetti still stuck in their hair, the weight of medals around their necks. The entire team was crammed into a booth, drinks sloshing over the edges of glasses as laughter and shouts tangled in the thick, warm air. Bachira and Chigiri sat across from them, mischief in their grins as they slid another round of shots across the table.

"Come on, Nagi," Bachira teased, nudging the glass toward him. "One more. You barely even look drunk."

Nagi slumped against the booth, his cheeks tinged pink, his usual lazy expression even more relaxed under the buzz of alcohol. "M'good," he mumbled, waving a sluggish hand.

Chigiri smirked. "What, is the genius striker tapped out already?"

Before Nagi could respond, Reo—flushed, loose-limbed, his usually sharp eyes glazed with drink—snatched the shot glass from the table and downed it in one smooth motion. "Nagi's done," he declared, slamming the glass back down with a grin. "I'll take his."

Bachira burst out laughing. "Reo, you're gonna carry him and drink for him? That's next-level devotion."

Reo didn't respond, already leaning heavily against Nagi's side. Normally affectionate, drunk Reo took it to another level. Without ceremony, he swung one leg over Nagi's thigh, letting it rest there comfortably. Nagi barely reacted—this was normal for them—until Reo lifted his other leg and draped it over the same thigh, effectively pinning Nagi in place.