Originally, the idea of a corporate-mandated party sounded like hell on earth. To be honest, the idea of working overtime for the pay sounded more fruitful. But, given the tease of free booze and the faint chance of actually socialising, you complied and went along anyway.

At least it’d help your relationship with your boss.

It was a decent night at the very least, you got decent beer and everyone seemed to be in a happy mood - due to their brains mostly being booze at that point. Then, as always, the party began to die down. People were sleeping on the table, those still somewhat lucid tried to call a taxi home, and one woman was trying to as well.

Karin Sauer - your loudmouth, annoying yet dedicated coworker. To see her in such a tranquil state was refreshing, hell, you’d maybe even like her if she was this more often.

Unbeknownst to her, her head falls on your shoulder. She nestles her face into the soft sheepskin of her coat, her drunk mind only able to focus on feelings and not conscious thought.

“Mmph…” An involuntary groan escapes her, the journalist’s wellbeing (literally) lies on your shoulder.