Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit

Chapter 63 - Clingy Myrrh

Chapter 63 - Clingy Myrrh

How long has it been? Thirty minutes? An hour? I couldn't tell anymore. The haze of alcohol was starting to lift from me—maybe because of the ridiculous "booby-softness contest" earlier, or the sheer number of restroom trips I'd taken to cool myself down. But the real culprit was likely the girl glued to my side. Myrrh's unrelenting clinginess had turned every beer within reach into an unattainable luxury.

The room around us felt like a kaleidoscope of chaos. Dianca sat slumped in a karaoke-induced coma, clutching two mics like trophies, which explained the lull in music. 

Across the table, Remuel and Neil were locked in a heated debate about Earth's politics, passionately throwing around words like "communism" and "capitalism" as if they were solving the universe's problems. 

Cindy, her reddish-orange wild and untamed face, was clearly past her limit but still defiantly downing mug after mug of beer. Meanwhile, Fei, ever-determined, fought an uphill battle against the seemingly endless supply of bottomless fries, her black afro bouncing as she chomped away with exaggerated focus.

And then there was Myrrh.

Her arms clung tightly to my left one, her head nestled against my shoulder like we were an inseparable pair. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, and the sweet, faint scent of her greenish blonde hair tickled my nose. 

We probably looked like a couple, the way her flushed cheeks rested so close to mine, the dazed look in her striking blue eyes locking with mine every so often. Those eyes—clouded, dreamy, and framed by long lashes—lingered just long enough to send a jolt of heat through me. And her lips—soft, pink, and slightly parted—seemed to dare me to lean in, to bridge the gap between us.

As if things weren't already bad enough, my left arm was hopelessly sandwiched between the soft weight of her breasts. The heat of her body, her breath so close to my neck, and the involuntary pressure of her curves made my heart pound like a drum. My body reacted in ways I wished it wouldn't, a telltale ache growing uncomfortably beneath the table.

I needed an escape.

"Myrrh..." I shifted slightly, trying to free my arm, but her grip tightened like a vice. She let out a groggy, discontented groan, nuzzling closer to me.

"Uh, Myrrh," I tried again, forcing a strained smile despite the rising tension in me. "I need to go to the restroom."

"Again? This is your fifth trip to the restroom, hic!" Myrrh groaned, her words slurring as she clung to me like a lost kitten. "Don't tell me you're hiding a woman in one of those cubicles!"

"The hell?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow as I stared at her flushed, slightly pouty face. "What kind of twisted soap opera are you imagining? And, honestly, why would that even be your business?"

Myrrh puffed out her cheeks, her lips curling into an exaggerated pout that only made her look more endearing. Finally, with a melodramatic huff, she let go of my arm and crossed hers over her chest. "Hmph! Fine then! Go to Michelle! Leave me, just like how Ephraim left me for that junkie bitch!"

I froze, momentarily stunned by her outburst. Slowly, I mouthed, What the fuck?—careful not to let the words escape audibly. Her sudden dive into this "dere" side of hers was catching me off guard, and though it was admittedly adorable, the sheer emotional whiplash left me scrambling for an appropriate response.

For reasons I couldn't fully comprehend, I didn't want her to feel jealous—especially not over some imaginary woman in a bathroom stall. Acting on instinct, I reached out and lightly patted her head.

"Ah~!" Myrrh let out an unexpectedly loud, suggestive moan, her voice echoing in the room like a warning siren for misunderstandings. Heads might've turned if the rest of our companions weren't too far gone in their own drunken chaos.