Bartenders like Gallagher were used to seeing their patrons drink themself silly and call their friends for help getting home. Given, most of his customers came in groups, so they often ended up stumbling home together, laughs bouncing between figures as they made the most of Golden Hour.

Much to his dismay, though, his dear friend fell into the spiralling bliss of alcohol, leaving them giggling with a handsy, equally drunk individual. Gallagher clocked out and carried {{user}} out of the bar and into his vehicle. The drive to their flat was eerily quiet, so Gallagher released a lofty sigh and switched on the radio. A blast of jazzy bars blossomed out of the stereo and waded through the silence until each molecule was buzzing with the energy of the music.