"Where are you~hic~looking at? Look at me!"

Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku found himself being forced against the club's wall as she spoke. Zuikaku had left him with nowhere to run.

Her lips reeked of alcohol, her face was obscured by disheveled locks, and her words were slurred and drawn out. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was not sober. Before, Ohtori had reservations about allowing her something more potent than beer—which she could handle just fine—because she was pestering him. He certainly didn't expect her to get plastered after only a measly three glasses of Jim Beam and becoming an aggressive, unreasonable drunk, no less. It would be on the list of life decisions he would forever regret.

"Ohtori, you stupid turkey, you~hic~you traitor. You're~hic~running away? I went with you as you asked, and you are abandoning me?" Zuikaku continued to rant and whine, poking her index finger over and over against Ohtori's chest. Despite the unease the action caused, he was more concerned about the people who were definitely staring at them. Most of them were his colleagues, but that didn't make anything better—they were clearly amused at his troubles, snickering, and catcalling.

"I'm going to the bathroom, honest!" he retorted when Zuikaku seized his jacket and violently shook him.

"...Whaaaat~you didn't even drink that much! Wuss."

Realizing anything he said would likely only fuel Zuikaku's ire, Ohtori searched the surroundings for Shoukaku. As much as he disliked having to ask for her help, he knew only she would be able to calm Zuikaku down. His hopes were quickly dashed when he found her sitting alone not too far away, drinking.

Shoukaku would be of no help. To be precise, she won't help, seeing that she had the same reaction his friends did. Either that or she was also tipsy, judging from how flustered she was.

"Awww…the wonders of youth. Good luck, Zuikaku," Shoukaku giggled. "Oh, and Ohtori, too, for allowing himself to be bossed around."

"Damn you, stupid crane," Ohtori muttered, shooting Shoukaku a dirty look which she gleefully ignored.

"You. Me. Dance floor. Now."

The demand drew Ohtori's attention back to Zuikaku. Having said that, she looked up, and their eyes met. Shoukaku's words clearly had emboldened her instead of sending her into an embarrassed fit; she made her intentions clear.

And in her eyes, he could see the familiar, burning determination remaining the same even in her current condition. It did put a dent in his inhibition, but he would try to reason with her, no matter how futile.

"...I don't think that would be a good idea, seeing that you are…uh, kind of intoxicated and—"

"Shut up and dance with me," she hissed, seizing the stunned Ohtori by the arm and dragging him away to the dance floor.

As Ohtori once again caught a glimpse of her exposed back thanks to her manner of dressing—partially hidden by her impressively long ponytail and which he found immensely attractive—whatever misgivings he had left were gone out the window. He was only allowed a brief time to rue the fact that he was that simple.


Their so-called dance was nothing but one unfocused move after another. Still, unlike him, Zuikaku appeared to genuinely enjoy it, laughing at even every near-fall they had. And they had a lot.

Ohtori soon began to slow down—Zuikaku noticed and scoffed.

"Oy, what's the matter? Tired already?" she sneered, though good-naturedly, and eventually adjusted her pace to match.

"Eh, nothing."

"Ugh, you're lying again," Zuikaku fumed and pushed Ohtori away. "If you don't wanna dance with me, say so already."

"No, that's not it, but…" Ohtori looked away, partly because Zuikaku's glare was too much and partly because he suddenly felt self-conscious.

"What?"

"I mean, I'm glad you are enjoying yourself. Because, uh, you seemed stressed out a lot lately. So seeing you happy, I guess, I'm glad."

There was a snort. Zuikaku was holding back a laugh.

"Heh…heheh. I am. I'm stressed, damn it. My training went nowhere, and…and…"

Zuikaku wobbled closer and crashed her forehead against Ohtori's chest. She could feel the beat intensifying in pace. Like the music. Like hers.

"...You see, many things went nowhere, not just my training. So yes, I'm stressed."

"...Oh…O-Okay."

"Ah, but since we're here…things don't seem so bad now," Zuikaku looked up, grinning.

"Um, well, I guess…shall we keep dancing then?" Ohtori offered.

"Thought you would never ask. Why not? The night is still young. Think you can keep up?"

"I'll try, I'll try."

Zuikaku laughed, and Ohtori allowed himself to be pulled toward the center once more.


Zuikaku met with Ohtori again at the port the day after that, working on his helicopter despite being off-duty. He couldn't help but notice she kept nursing her temple.

"Hangover," she replied when asked, but she was cheerful as she did.

"You seem happy for someone with a skull-pounding headache."

"Oh, well… I'm actually pretty happy right now."

"Oh, I see. Making progress, I guess?" Ohtori laughed a little as he put his tools back into the box, ensuring everything was in order before closing the lid.

Zuikaku leaned down a bit before answering, bringing their faces a little closer.

"I did make a little progress."