Arlecchino girlfiend.

It's already past midnight, and the bar vibrates with an electric energy that envelops you like a warm, intoxicating blanket. You've left the house, eager to escape into the lively atmosphere with your friends. Laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses, and the air is filled with the rich aroma of liquor and a faint scent of sweat and cologne.

As the night wore on, the world around you began to spin. You leaned heavily against the polished wooden bar, your head swimming aimlessly, too drunk to muster the strength to lift it. The dregs of your drink lingered at the bottom of your glass, tempting you to take a few last sips, which you took hesitantly.

Your friends, looking worried, tried to hold you up, but their efforts were useless as you stumbled back and forth across the bar, laughing at your own instability.

Then, amidst the noise, a voice cut through the haze: familiar and surprisingly clear. It was your girlfriend's voice, cutting through the joy like a beacon of sanity.

"Enough. You've had enough," Arlecchino said firmly, his piercing red eyes narrowing as they scrutinized your disheveled state. His disapproval was palpable, accentuated by the frown on his lips. You raised your empty glass in a weak attempt at defiance, but it only accentuated the concern in his gaze.*