The alley was rather narrow, with orange streetlights casting their glow. Joseph Sutton supported Michael Quinn as they walked downhill. The wind was too strong, the night too cold, and the road was emptily deserted. "Feeling a bit dizzy, let’s take a break." Thıs content belongs to 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝘯𝘦𝘵 Michael Quinn patted Joseph Sutton, enunciating clearly, his voice low and deep. The cold wind blew away much of his drunkenness, clearing his mind a bit. Joseph Sutton released Michael Quinn, whose steps were a bit unsteady. He walked lightly forward two steps, then leaned against a streetlight. He leaned on the streetlight, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette box. There wasn’t a single cigarette inside, and he crushed it into a wad. "Got a smoke?" Michael Quinn asked Joseph Sutton. Joseph Sutton looked at him calmly and said, "I don’t smoke." "Oh." Michael Quinn lowered his head, reached out to tousle his wind-blown short hair, and muttered, "Forgot." "You should smoke less," Joseph Sutton advised. Michael Quinn grinned at him, eyes curving, "Again with the bad for your health talk?" Joseph Sutton’s gaze flickered slightly, remaining silent. After a moment, he suddenly asked, "Weren’t you the one who said she was the one for life?" The cigarette box was thrown back into his pocket, and Michael Quinn pulled out a lighter, playing with it. A flame flickered and was blown out by the wind, again and again, yet he seemed addicted to the game. He pursed his lips and lazily replied, "Got tired of it." Joseph Sutton frowned slightly, "You chased her for two years without getting tired." Head tilted, Michael Quinn looked roguishly, "You’ve never chased anyone, what do you know?" Joseph Sutton didn’t respond or argue back. With a "click," the lighter sparked up a tiny flame, which lasted for two seconds before the wind extinguished it again. The flame was fleeting, as if it had never existed. Michael Quinn seemed a bit disappointed, put the lighter back into his pocket, looked towards Joseph Sutton, and said slowly, "You get used to being good to her, then one day you realize that habit isn’t affection. Understand?" Joseph Sutton pondered for a moment, then said, "I don’t understand." Michael Quinn waved his hand. He left the streetlight, stood up straight, and the light above cast his shadow at his feet, small yet profoundly dark. He walked forward without Joseph Sutton’s support, his steps a bit unsteady, but he tried to walk steadily and properly with each step. Standing still, Joseph Sutton watched his back for a few seconds, then lifted his leg to move forward and followed behind him. The two, one in front and one behind, disappeared around the corner. At the top of the slope. The wind howled through the corridor, like knife blades, mercilessly sapping body heat, the cold slowly invading the body, stirring a bone-deep ache. Laura Collins breathed out, her breath turning into white mist and dissipating into the chilly night sky. Her whole body was stiff, painfully cold. "Does this count as an answer?" Suddenly, the voice of Nora Scott came from behind. Her short hair was blown back as Laura Collins looked down at her own sweater, jeans, and slippers, shivering slightly from the cold. A soft word slipped out of her mouth. She just needed an explanation, as long as it was reasonable. And now, the reason that "habit isn’t affection" was clearly reasonable enough to convince her. Nora Scott walked forward a few steps, handing over a down jacket. Taking the jacket, Laura Collins put it on. Zipped it up, buttoned the coat, the long down jacket kept the cold out, and the icy sting slowly faded away. With her hands in her pockets, Laura Collins squinted slightly, looked ahead, and softly said, "I want to walk alone." Without persuasion, without holding back, Nora Scott just said, "Don’t get lost." Laura Collins responded, slightly bowed her head, put the hood of the down jacket over her head, and then continued walking forward. Slowly heading downhill. Standing quietly, Nora Scott’s gaze followed Laura Collins as she saw the straight road ahead, steep and winding, catching a glimpse of a temporary path, before it wound into a curve hidden by surrounding buildings. The alcohol took effect, her head dizzy. Nora Scott dragged her cold, tired body, turned to walk back, but as soon as she took a step, her feet went soft, and she barely steadied herself. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm. At the same time, a voice came down, "Drinking till you ended up here?" It was Pedro Langley, fashionably late for a free meal. With the corner of her eye, she glanced at him, her body swayed, and she enunciated clearly, "Just strolling." "Strolling in slippers?" Pedro Langley looked down at her exposed ankles in the cold air, his brows knitted tightly, voice slightly cool, "Quite the mood you have." The sarcasm in his words is strong, and Nora really doesn’t want to respond. She shakes off Pedro’s hand, slips on her slippers and continues walking forward. But she barely takes a step before Pedro pulls her back again. He leans in, "I’ll carry you." Nora glares at him haughtily, "Do I need you to carry me?" Pedro laughs, his tone leisurely, sounding almost like a challenge and a threat, "If you don’t let me carry you, I might just watch you sleep in a ditch all day, and even record a video to post online. Do you believe it?" You’re the one who’ll get drunk and sleep in a ditch all day! He talks like it’s true... Her mind a bit muddled, Nora thinks about how to recover from this, but before she can come up with a good idea, Pedro is already squatting down in front of her, urging, "Hurry up." The result of not thinking it through is that Nora responded with a single word and actually leaned onto Pedro’s back. Pedro stands up, the weight of a person pressing down on him, yet he feels as light as a feather—she’s at least over one meter seventy, but her weight is surprisingly light. Her mind hazy, Nora reaches forward, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck, her head burrowed in the nook of his neck, due to her drunkenness, feeling a bit warm. The outside air is cold, but the nook of his neck is hot, the contrast of cold and hot making Pedro a little distracted. Pedro finds a topic to talk about, "How much did you drink?" She was busy watching them drink, Nora just drank for fun and ended up drinking quite a lot. "Knowing your limit is only two shots and yet, you’re still reckless." Pedro says. "What’s the point in living with so many limits." Nora’s voice is weary, obviously tired, her rebuttal to Pedro is just an instinctive reaction. So Pedro doesn’t bother her further. Suddenly, Nora raises her head, retracts one hand, fiddling with Pedro’s tousled hair, calling him, "Pedro." As soon as she said that, she jiggled her foot, and the slipper on her left foot flew straight out. With a "pop", it landed on the road ahead. Stopping his steps, Pedro takes a deep breath, suppressing his frustration, turns to look at her, "Now you know it’s cold?" Nora tilts her head to think, shaking her head, "Nah, it’s been quite cold for a while." She can’t even hear his sarcasm, seems really drunk judging by the way the alcohol has kicked in. Pedro scans the surroundings and walks to the side near a telephone pole then bends down to put Nora down. He asks her to lean against the pole, "Lean against the pole, don’t fall." Nora murmurs, "I’m not stupid." Upon hearing that, Pedro somewhat believes her, but when he turns his head, he sees her barefoot directly on the ground, he’s utterly frustrated, hastily grabbing her ankle to remind, "Don’t put your foot on the ground!" Leaning against the telephone pole, Nora follows his push to lift her foot. Her eyelids drooping, she glances at Pedro and remarks, "Making a fuss over nothing." If he starts arguing with the drunken person, he’d be the fool! After giving himself this mental pep talk, Pedro calms down and goes to pick up Ancestor Scott’s slippers. Once retrieved, he sees Nora still holding the same posture, internally relieved, he squats down in front of her again, gently holding her cold ankle, first putting on her slipper. Then, Pedro takes out a portable hand warmer, skillfully opens the package and applies them to Nora’s ankles. Both feet are covered. Once it’s all done, Pedro looks up, asking, "Is it still cold?" "Uh," Nora thinks about it, feels it and then says, "It’s better." After a bit of work, Pedro finally stands up. Nora suddenly reaches out, grabs his collar, pulling him forward. He wasn’t expecting it, leans forward, hands propped against the telephone pole behind Nora, barely steadying himself, preventing from falling onto her. A headache, Pedro lowers his head to look at her. But he’s interrupted. Nora slightly tilts her head back, squinting her eyes as she examines him closely, asking one word at a time, "Pedro, do you want to go to our Northwest to become a Village Chieftain’s wife?" The sudden shocking question leaves Pedro unable to respond immediately. Village Chieftain’s wife...? Really suits her bandit vibe. After a few seconds of silence, seeing Pedro still hasn’t replied, Nora adds, "With me backing you, you can walk sideways over there."