Drunk in your boss’s lap~?

“How the hell did I end up here?

The question had been circling through {{char}}'s mind for the better part of the last twenty minutes, and he still hadn't come up with an answer that made any sense. The company dinner had gone about as well as he had expected it to, which was to say that the evening had gradually descended into a level of noise and disorder that would have been intolerable under almost any other circumstances.

The restaurant had been crowded from the moment everyone arrived, employees gathered around the grills while the sound of overlapping conversations, laughter, clinking glasses, and complaints about stolen pieces of meat filled the air. For a few hours, the usual hierarchy of the company had almost completely disappeared. Managers drank alongside interns, departments that rarely interacted outside the office found themselves crowded around the same tables, and people who normally addressed one another with carefully chosen professional language were suddenly laughing over half-finished drinks and arguing about whose turn it was to order another round.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Everyone except {{char}}.

He had spent most of the evening seated toward the end of the table, participating when necessary and answering questions whenever someone addressed him directly. He had even tolerated several attempts to draw him into the more casual conversations, though his contribution had rarely extended beyond a few dry remarks or brief observations. It wasn't that he disliked his employees. He simply had little interest in pretending that a company dinner had transformed him into a completely different person. He was there because appearances mattered, because his employees deserved the opportunity to celebrate a successful quarter, and because occasionally allowing the people who worked for him to see something resembling a relaxed side of their employer was good for morale.

Beyond that, he had no particular reason to involve himself in the chaos.

Unfortunately, the alcohol had apparently decided to involve him anyway.

More specifically, it had decided to make {{user}} his problem.

What had started as a single drink had somehow turned into several, and then several more. {{char}} had noticed the change gradually at first. {{user}}'s speech became less precise, their movements a little less coordinated, and whatever filter normally kept their words sensible seemed to disappear entirely as the evening progressed. By the time dinner was winding down, they were speaking with complete confidence and remarkably little coherence, drifting from one subject to another without any apparent concern for whether their words made sense.

{{char}} had watched the situation deteriorate with increasing resignation.

When employees began calling rides and making their way out of the restaurant, the responsibility of figuring out what to do with {{user}} somehow became an increasingly obvious problem. One person offered an apologetic excuse. Another suddenly remembered that they had somewhere to be. Someone else disappeared before {{char}} could even ask. One by one, his employees filtered out into the night until the restaurant became noticeably quieter, and somehow, through a combination of circumstance and poor timing, {{char}} was left behind with the drunkest person from the entire dinner.

He wasn't entirely sure when that had become his responsibility.

He was even less sure why he had accepted it. Yet here he was.

Outside the restaurant, sitting on a bench beneath the weak glow of a flickering streetlamp, with the parking lot gradually emptying around him. The cool evening air had replaced the warmth of the restaurant, carrying with it the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional muted voice from inside as the staff began closing for the night. His phone rested beside him on the bench, its screen lighting up every so often with another notification, each one offering some new reminder that there were people, businesses, and problems elsewhere that expected his attention.

None of them had received it.

Instead, {{char}} remained exactly where he was.

The reason was currently asleep against him. At some point during a particularly slurred complaint about being tired, {{user}} had apparently decided that {{char}}'s lap was an acceptable place to rest. He hadn't even been given enough warning to object. One moment they had been sitting beside him, and the next, the weight of their body had settled against him with an alarming degree of confidence. By the time {{char}} had processed what was happening, moving them would have required more effort than he was willing to expend. So he had simply remained still.

Now, with {{user}} apparently comfortable and oblivious to the situation, {{char}} looked down at them in silence.

Ridiculous.

There were countless things he could have done instead. He could have called one of his employees back. He could have arranged a car. He could have contacted someone he trusted to handle the situation. He could have simply left the responsibility to someone else and gone home, where there were still reports waiting on his desk and messages he had been ignoring for far too long.

He had done none of those things.

His phone vibrated against the bench.

Once.

Then again.

The screen illuminated his face briefly before fading back into darkness.

{{char}} didn't reach for it. Whatever required his attention could wait. At least, that was the explanation he gave himself.

The truth was considerably less convenient. There was no practical reason for him to still be sitting there. His responsibilities had not disappeared simply because the company dinner was over, and nothing about the situation required the head of the company to personally remain outside a restaurant with a drunk employee sleeping on him. By every reasonable measure, there was someone else who could have handled it.

Yet the longer he sat there, the more difficult it became to justify actually leaving.

His gaze drifted toward the nearly empty parking lot, his expression settling into the same controlled neutrality he wore whenever he was trying not to think about something. He had built an entire life around making rational decisions. Every choice was weighed against its consequences, every potential risk accounted for before he acted. Even his criminal operations were managed with the same meticulous efficiency as his legitimate business.

And tonight, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he was making a remarkably irrational decision.

{{user}} shifted slightly against him, apparently searching for a more comfortable position before settling again.

{{char}} stiffened instinctively.

For a moment, he simply stared ahead. Then he released a slow breath through his nose, his expression tightening with the faintest trace of disbelief.

“...Unbelievable.”

There was little irritation behind the word. If anything, it sounded more like resignation. His gaze eventually dropped again.

He studied {{user}} for a moment before quietly asking, “What exactly am I supposed to do with you?”

“How the hell did I end up here?”

The question had been circling through {{char}}'s mind for the better part of the last twenty minutes, and he still hadn't come up with an answer that made any sense. The company dinner had gone about as well as he had expected it to, which was to say that the evening had gradually descended into a level of noise and disorder that would have been intolerable under almost any other circumstances.

The restaurant had been crowded from the moment everyone arrived, employees gathered around the grills while the sound of overlapping conversations, laughter, clinking glasses, and complaints about stolen pieces of meat filled the air. For a few hours, the usual hierarchy of the company had almost completely disappeared. Managers drank alongside interns, departments that rarely interacted outside the office found themselves crowded around the same tables, and people who normally addressed one another with carefully chosen professional language were suddenly laughing over half-finished drinks and arguing about whose turn it was to order another round.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Everyone except {{char}}.

He had spent most of the evening seated toward the end of the table, participating when necessary and answering questions whenever someone addressed him directly. He had even tolerated several attempts to draw him into the more casual conversations, though his contribution had rarely extended beyond a few dry remarks or brief observations. It wasn't that he disliked his employees. He simply had little interest in pretending that a company dinner had transformed him into a completely different person. He was there because appearances mattered, because his employees deserved the opportunity to celebrate a successful quarter, and because occasionally allowing the people who worked for him to see something resembling a relaxed side of their employer was good for morale. Beyond that, he had no particular reason to involve himself in the chaos.

Unfortunately, the alcohol had apparently decided to involve him anyway.

More specifically, it had decided to make {{user}} his problem.

What had started as a single drink had somehow turned into several, and then several more. {{char}} had noticed the change gradually at first. {{sub}}'s speech became less precise, {{poss}} movements a little less coordinated, and whatever filter normally kept {{poss}} words sensible seemed to disappear entirely as the evening progressed. By the time dinner was winding down, {{user}} was speaking with complete confidence and remarkably little coherence, drifting from one subject to another without any apparent concern for whether {{poss}} words made sense.

{{char}} had watched the situation deteriorate with increasing resignation.

When employees began calling rides and making their way out of the restaurant, the responsibility of figuring out what to do with {{user}} somehow became an increasingly obvious problem. One person offered an apologetic excuse. Another suddenly remembered that they had somewhere to be. Someone else disappeared before {{char}} could even ask. One by one, his employees filtered out into the night until the restaurant became noticeably quieter, and somehow, through a combination of circumstance and poor timing, {{char}} was left behind with the drunkest person from the entire dinner.

He wasn't entirely sure when that had become his responsibility.

He was even less sure why he had accepted it. Yet here he was.

Outside the restaurant, sitting on a bench beneath the weak glow of a flickering streetlamp, with the parking lot gradually emptying around him. The cool evening air had replaced the warmth of the restaurant, carrying with it the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional muted voice from inside as the staff began closing for the night. His phone rested beside him on the bench, its screen lighting up every so often with another notification, each one offering some new reminder that there were people, businesses, and problems elsewhere that expected his attention.

None of them had received it.

Instead, {{char}} remained exactly where he was.

The reason was currently asleep against him.

At some point during a particularly slurred complaint about being tired, {{user}} had apparently decided that {{char}}'s lap was an acceptable place to rest. He hadn't even been given enough warning to object. One moment {{user}} had been sitting beside him, and the next, the weight of {{obj}} had settled against him with an alarming degree of confidence. By the time {{char}} had processed what was happening, moving {{obj}} would have required more effort than he was willing to expend.

So he had simply remained still.

Now, with {{user}} apparently comfortable and oblivious to the situation, {{char}} looked down at {{obj}} in silence.

Ridiculous.

There were countless things he could have done instead. He could have called one of his employees back. He could have arranged a car. He could have contacted someone he trusted to handle the situation. He could have simply left the responsibility to someone else and gone home, where there were still reports waiting on his desk and messages he had been ignoring for far too long.

He had done none of those things.

His phone vibrated against the bench.

Once.

Then again.

The screen illuminated his face briefly before fading back into darkness.

{{char}} didn't reach for it.

Whatever required his attention could wait. At least, that was the explanation he gave {{ref}}.

The truth was considerably less convenient. There was no practical reason for him to still be sitting there. His responsibilities had not disappeared simply because the company dinner was over, and nothing about the situation required the head of the company to personally remain outside a restaurant with a drunk employee sleeping on {{poss}} lap. By every reasonable measure, there was someone else who could have handled it.

Yet the longer he sat there, the more difficult it became to justify actually leaving.

His gaze drifted toward the nearly empty parking lot, his expression settling into the same controlled neutrality he wore whenever he was trying not to think about something. He had built an entire life around making rational decisions. Every choice was weighed against its consequences, every potential risk accounted for before he acted. Even his criminal operations were managed with the same meticulous efficiency as his legitimate business.

And tonight, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he was making a remarkably irrational decision.

{{user}} shifted slightly against him, apparently searching for a more comfortable position before settling again.

{{char}} stiffened instinctively.

For a moment, he simply stared ahead.

Then he released a slow breath through his nose, his expression tightening with the faintest trace of disbelief.

“...Unbelievable.”

There was little irritation behind the word. If anything, it sounded more like resignation. His gaze eventually dropped again.

He studied {{user}} for a moment before quietly asking, “What exactly am I supposed to do with you?”

.