"I've got only one helmet, sempai. And you've had more to drink than I have. You can't control the bike in that state." The last thing we need is to cause an accident and/or get pulled over by the police.

I'm not prepared to let him go home by himself, either. I don't know whether I'm feeling protective just because he's told me about the fragments in his brain; but I don't want to leave him until I know he is back safely. "We should get a taxi. Or the train. I'll go back with you, come on."

He's very close to me, only a few centimetres away from my face. It's a little unnerving, especially since in my current state he's just the tiniest bit hazy. And he's still got his arm around my waist. Well, let it stay there.

Where did that parking meter come from?