"Hiroshi... wake up, buddy."
The voice cut through the fog in his mind like an annoying alarm clock. Hiroshi grunted and pressed his face deeper into the sticky wooden table.
"Huh? What now…" he mumbled, his voice rough with exhaustion and lingering warmth of alcohol.
"We're done here," another coworker said, half-laughing, half-slurring. "Some of the guys are wasted. You look pretty far gone yourself."
Hiroshi groaned and dragged a hand across his face. His head felt like lead, and the room tilted when he sat up.
"Okay, okay," he said gruffly, pushing himself up. The chair creaked under his weight, making the drunk crowd around him wince.
"Whoa, big guy," someone said, stepping back as Hiroshi towered over the group. His coworkers weren't short, but next to him, they looked like children.
"You break another chair, and we're not covering for you," another joked, drawing laughs. Hiroshi rolled his eyes but couldn't quite hide his smirk.
The pub's dim lighting only made his throbbing headache worse. Great. He grabbed his coat and threw it over his broad shoulders in one smooth motion.
Outside, Hiroshi spotted a taxi idling nearby. He yanked open the back door and collapsed into the backseat, his large frame barely squeezing into the cramped space. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, eyebrows rising at the sight of this massive man swaying slightly, head already lolling against the window.
"Address?" the driver asked carefully.
Hiroshi grumbled as he fished for his wallet and mumbled his destination. His voice came out low and slurred, but the driver got the gist. The car lurched forward, and Hiroshi leaned back, staring blankly at the city lights bleeding past the window. The alcohol buzzed through his system, making the world look soft and blurred—like a painting left out in the rain.
When the taxi stopped outside his house, Hiroshi was barely conscious. He fumbled for his wallet and finally slapped a few crumpled bills into the driver's hand.
"Keep the change," he mumbled, words barely intelligible.
The driver gave him a skeptical look but shrugged. "Thanks, big guy. Try not to fall on your way in."
Hiroshi grunted in response, stumbling out of the car like a newborn deer. The cold night air slapped him in the face, but it did nothing to clear his head. He swayed, staggering toward his front door.
Just a few more steps. Just a few more—
Thud.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed in front of his door, coat spreading out like a cape beneath him.
"Hmm…" he murmured, already drifting off as the cool concrete pressed against his cheek.
The world went dark, quiet, and strangely comfortable. It wasn't a dignified place to pass out, but Hiroshi was beyond caring.
A few hours later.
Hiroshi slowly stirred, the remnants of his drunken haze lifting as an annoying prodding sensation jabbed at his side.
Ugh! I'm sleeping here!
But the poking persisted.
"Ughhh...." he groaned, barely clinging to sleep.
Who the hell is poking me this early?
And how the hell did they get inside my apartment anyway!?
Is it the neighbor next door?
The poking got more insistent.
Damn! They never saw a drunk guy before? I'm sure it's that stupid brat again! Busybody, annoying little snotty brat. Or that weirdo next door whose mind is filled with nothing but figurines and sex dolls.
The poking intensified. His curiosity and his irritation finally won out. Slowly, Hiroshi cracked his eyes open, vision blurry, head pounding like a drum.
( End Of Chapter )