Tian reached out and gently took Kihyeon’s hand, guiding him with patient resolve toward the basement, where the car awaited to take them home. Yet once again, the young man resisted, his body swaying under the lingering influence of intoxication.

“No,,, let me go!” cried Kihyeon, tearing his hand free from Tian’s grasp.

For a moment Tian stood still, the effort of composure etched upon his face. Then, turning aside, he exhaled a long and weary sigh, one born of both exhaustion and pity.

“Yeon… what is it that you want?” he asked at last, his voice heavy with helplessness.

He had reached the limits of his patience and understanding. Never before had he shared a drink with anyone but Muyang, and both men were blessed, or cursed, with a tolerance that spared them the folly of drunkenness. Thus, this was Tian’s first true encounter with a soul adrift in such a state, and it left him utterly at a loss.

Kihyeon, however, gave no answer. Without a word, he turned from Tian and staggered away, his unsteady steps carrying him further into the dim light of the street, like a ghost wandering from the reach of reason.

From behind, Tian followed Kihyeon’s wavering steps with patient vigilance. The night lay hushed and still, disturbed only by the occasional passing of a lonely motor-car along the dim roadway. More than once Kihyeon faltered, lurching perilously as though the earth itself betrayed him, and each time Tian sprang forward in alarm, scarcely able to keep pace with his companion’s drunken whims.

Thus they went on for ten long minutes until, without warning, Kihyeon halted before a solitary street lamp, its pale glow casting ghostly shadows upon the pavement.

“Kihyeon, have you regained your senses at last?” Tian ventured, hope flickering faintly in his voice.

Alas, such hope was swiftly dashed.

“I… want that pole! Buy me that pole! Hic… Tian…"

With that absurd declaration, Kihyeon’s legs gave way entirely. He collapsed like a man whose strings had been cut, and Tian barely managed to catch him in his weary arms. A heavy sigh escaped him—half exasperation, half resignation.

Truly, he thought, there is no endeavour more exhausting nor more curious than shepherding a drunken soul through the silent streets of the night.