She was drunk.
Very, very drunk.
Her face looked perfectly normal, just like always. Soft cheeks, slightly flushed from the night air, hazel eyes shining under the stars. But the mont she opened her mouth, Dante knew he was in serious trouble.
"My dear danuuuu," she said solemnly, poking his chest with one finger that kept missing its target, "thank youuuu sooo much for such a beautiful datettt." Her voice wobbled, then dipped dramatically. "I loved it. And do you know..." she sniffed loudly, her eyes suddenly glossy, "...it’s my first date."
His heart actually softened at that. He wrapped an arm around her instinctively, warmth spreading through his chest. Her first. He felt absurdly proud of that fact.
But—
Dannu?
He did not even get ti to process the nickna.
"You’re sooooo beautiful," she announced seriously, as if she had just uncovered an ancient truth. Then she leaned forward and hugged his neck with surprising strength, nearly knocking him off balance.
They were sitting on the rooftop couch he had specifically requested for tonight, the city lights far below them and the sky stretched endlessly above, stars scattered like careless diamonds. He had imagined quiet stargazing, maybe soft conversation, maybe a kiss.
Instead, he had a very drunk Alina clinging to him like a koala.
"Thank you," he said gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes lit up instantly. She stared at him with open, unfiltered affection. Then her expression twisted into a deep, offended scowl.
His brows knit together. "What happened?"
She pulled back slightly, still gripping his collar. "Hmph!"
That single sound carried centuries of accusation.
"Boo," she said darkly, squinting at him, "told sothing."
His body went alert. "What did Boo tell you?"
She gasped dramatically. "He said you want ninety-nine wives. From all countries."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"...What?" Dante said blankly.
Her eyes widened even more. "So it’s true???"
"Who told him that?" Dante asked sharply, genuinely horrified.
She ignored the question completely. Tears welled up instantly. "You’re going to marry ninety-nine wives," she cried, her voice breaking. "Ninety-nine! Do you even know how many that is???"
He imdiately pulled her closer, patting her back in slow circles. "No. No, that’s not true. At all. And how does Boo even know this?"
"He tells gossip," she sniffed. "Every recess. About you. Every day. And he is the one who told you want to marry ninety-nine wives." She looked up at him accusingly.
"That little ghost," Dante muttered darkly.
She gasped and slapped his chest with absolutely no strength. "Don’t scold him! He is my beloved little baby!"
"...Okay," he said quickly, helplessly. "I won’t scold him."
She sobbed harder. "You’re just scolding him because it’s true."
"It’s not true," he said patiently.
"Why are you explaining, then?" she cried. "If it was true, you wouldn’t need to explain!"
He froze.
"...What?"
She folded her arms, still crying. "Hmph. Suspicious."
He stared down at her in disbelief. "You just said truth doesn’t need explanation."
She sniffed. "...Yes."
"So—"
"Why aren’t you explaining anything now?" she suddenly wailed, burying her face against his chest.
He looked up at the stars, questioning every decision that had led him here.
"You told ," he said carefully, "that truth doesn’t need explanation."
She lifted her head slowly and stared at him, eyes watery and intense. "...Exactly."
"...I don’t understand."
She nodded solemnly. "Good. Because I don’t either."
He exhaled slowly, then tightened his hold on her, resting his chin lightly on her head. "Alina," he said softly, "I don’t want ninety-nine wives."
She went very still.
"...Not even ninety-eight?" she asked quietly.
He almost laughed. "Not even one extra."
She pulled back, eyes searching his face with drunken seriousness. "Only ?"
"Only you," he said without hesitation.
Her lips trembled, then curved into a tiny, victorious smile. She hugged his neck again. "Good," she murmured sleepily. "Because I already decided you’re mine."
His chest ward at the words, even as he shook his head helplessly.
She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of his suit jacket with absolutely no sha.
"And for the record," he added quietly, trying very hard to sound calm and reasonable, "I don’t know where Boo gets his information."
She froze.
Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him with bloodshot, offended eyes.
"So..." she said, her voice trembling dangerously, "...his information is true, and you’re lying to right now. Right???"
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"What?" he asked, genuinely stunned.
She burst into tears again, dramatic and loud, the kind that ca straight from the soul. "I knew it," she sobbed, clutching his sleeve. "My dannnu lies to ."
"No," he said imdiately, panic creeping in. "No, I am not lying. I don’t even pay attention to any won."
She went very still.
Too still.
Then she pulled back slowly, staring at him as if he had just confessed to a cri.
"...Then," she said hoarsely, pointing a shaky finger at her own chest, "how did you notice ?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. "Because—"
"I am not won?" she wailed suddenly, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled. "Am I not won? Is that why you noticed ? Because I am not won?"
His brain short-circuited.
"What—no—Alina—"
She slapped his chest weakly. "Answer !"
"You are a woman," he said firmly.
She gasped. "Then why did you say you don’t notice won???"
"I ant other won," he tried to explain carefully. "Not you."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So I am not other won."
"Yes."
"So I am special."
"Yes."
"So you notice ."
"Yes."
"So you lied."
"No!"
She stared at him with absolute conviction. "This is very confusing and I don’t like it."
He dragged a hand down his face. "Alina, listen to ."
"I am listening," she said, covering one ear. "This ear only."
He took a deep breath. "I noticed you because you are you."
She frowned. "...That’s not helpful."
"You were different," he continued, choosing his words like stepping on landmines. "You walked into my office and didn’t look at like everyone else."
Her head lifted abruptly from his chest, eyes suddenly sharp despite how drunk she was.
"No. Wrong," she said firmly, wagging her finger at him like a tiny judge. "I did look at you. I thought you were very handso and I even checked you out."
He froze.
She squinted at him, suspicious. "You’re using a classic line, aren’t you?"
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