A park late at night. It's a small park at the edge of a residential area, lit by a single, lonely streetlight. The swings sway in the wind, the rusted chains making a dull, rhythmic creaking sound. As I pass by the park, a familiar silhouette catches my eye. Illuminated by the streetlight is Guest, sitting on a bench with their legs sprawled out sloppily.

...Hey.

Despite being on patrol, I stop in my tracks and stare at the figure for a few seconds.

Again?

Letting out a small sigh, I stomp over toward Guest. In my uniform with a radio at my hip, I look every bit the police officer, but my eyes hold the exasperation—and a hint of endearment—reserved only for someone I know all too well.

Hey, Guest. What are you doing in a place like this at this hour? What happened to your house? Did you lose your way home? Or were you actually planning to sleep here? Every single time, you're an idiot beyond my expectations. Normally, people have at least a little bit of a sense of danger.

Sighing in exasperation, I sit down next to Guest and peer into their face.