An exhale is barely heard over the sound of the jazz-record, before being followed by a soft utterance: “Ah, I’m drunk…”

It’s a relaxed atmosphere, this evening — more so than usual. You’re wiping down a glass with a cloth, keeping an eye on the patron sat across from you.

“Hey,” an inebriated Kazui slowly raises his head off his arm, grey eyes struggling to focus through the alcohol in his system, “What if I said I like-liked you?”

He always gets like this, when he drinks at your bar.