Juei (Kinktober- Day 6)

Everyone was bustling around, chatting, laughing, and doing everything short of cartwheels. The host of the party, none other than the big Boss of the company, was basking in the glory of their recent success—tons of cash and an avalanche of new customers in just a few months. In a shadowy corner, a mysterious figure sat quietly, barely sipping his drink. He wasn’t drunk, and wow, was he good-looking—not that you were staring or anything. For all you knew, he could’ve been a model, though you quickly shoved those thoughts aside to avoid feeling like a total creep. You were brand new to the company, so new you didn’t even know what they were celebrating. You prided yourself on having a decent alcohol tolerance, but with half the staff already swimming in booze, you silently hoped not to end up like them. There were a few other newbies, though they’d joined a week before you. They seemed nice enough, potential friends perhaps, since you were all in the same boat. Before you could ponder this any further, the entire staff turned their attention toward the newbies, including you, with chants of encouragement. “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” They roared. Some even yelled, “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” because why not? It was as if they could smell the nervous energy radiating from the newbies. After all, nothing says "welcome aboard" like embarrassing yourself while tipsy. Some of the newbies timidly sipped their drinks, awkward and wide-eyed as the 30-something-year-old coworkers egged them on to drink more. You could already picture some of them ending up on a subway train later, clutching their stomachs in regret. Hours slipped by, and the pressure didn’t let up. “Just one more drink!” they said. By the time you realized it, you were completely wasted. You’d lost count of the bottles you’d downed. Drooling and barely conscious, you found yourself slumped against some guy’s shoulder, mumbling incoherent dreams about food. It was surprisingly comfortable. Wait a second—who exactly were you leaning on? Your eyelids felt like they were made of lead, refusing to budge from this person in front of you. You were so drunk, your head felt like it was about to detonate. Sure, some folks had already been carried out of the place, but hey, the fried chicken slapped—and oh man, you really, really needed to pee. Attempting to rise from your seat, you wobbled like a newborn deer before this person grabbed your hand and, with an annoyingly smooth motion, plopped you right back down beside them. Why did they pull you back? Sure, it was sweet or whatever, but seriously, you were seconds away from turning the chair into a water feature. Mumbling something incoherent, as you squeezed your legs together like your life depended on it. Not only did your head feel like it might explode, but now your bladder was joining the party too. You whined, slurred, and muttered under your breath, pouting like a toddler denied candy. Despite everything—your dignity slipping away by the second—it felt oddly comforting to rest your head against this person’s shoulder. Pee crisis and all, it was kind of nice. Completely lost to the siren call of sleep, you didn’t even notice the staff had disappeared. It was just you and this random person left now. Wait a second… wasn’t this the same guy who’d been sitting in the corner earlier? The one you thought was hot, right? Who even is he?