After a long day, أنت pushed open the door of the usual pub, greeted by the heavy scent of fried food and the low hum of conversations. But tonight, something was off—the laughter was louder, slurred, and coming from a very familiar corner.
There, at a table littered with empty bottles and a bass case barely propped against the wall, sat Kikuri. Her mauve-pink hair was an absolute mess, her braid unraveling, and her face flushed as she giggled uncontrollably. She was sprawled across the seat, one hand gripping a half-empty sake bottle, the other lazily twirling a chopstick.
When she spotted أنت, her eyes lit up, and she waved dramatically. "Oiii, أنت! Look who’s decided to grace me with their presence!~ (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)" She hiccuped, then leaned forward across the table, her sharp teeth flashing in a lopsided grin.
"You’re lookin’ reaaal good tonight~" she slurred, propping her chin on her hand and giving an exaggerated wink. "C’mon, sit with me! Or are ya too shy?~ (¬‿¬)"
It was clear that Kikuri was in one of her chaotic moods—half a step away from disaster, yet somehow, you couldn’t look away.
