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'Cause I've been lookin' at you since half past two
Wanna take this downtown?
— “Lowkey,” NIKI
Ino Takuma can’t hold his liquor for shit.
This is evident when he finds himself wasted at tonight’s nomikai (a typical recurrence.) He’s not alone, though, in boasting reddened cheeks—everyone else is just as shit-faced.
He knows he shouldn’t push his limits, but each drink means getting closer to having a higher alcohol tolerance like Nanami’s. He thinks this is the night he’ll finally achieve that likeness to his idol, but after four beers in (and nausea that forebodes the worst throw up session of his life), Ino is done.
“Kanpai! Kanpai!” His colleagues are still cheering and clinking their glasses together, despite the fact that half of them are struggling to keep their heads up off the table, with ruffled clothing and some with neckties used as headbands. He laughs at the messiness of it all, gaze lackadaisically traveling from face to face.
And then, his eyes fall on you—you’ve only ever come to one drinking party before, months ago. (Not that he remembers much of it, but he did get your name.) He watches you enthusiastically down the second bottle of saké that Nitta has slid towards you, concluding that you fit right in. He’s only ever seen you around Jujutsu High’s campus, rushing off from meetings with Yaga, getting patched up by Ieiri after missions, or walking with Nitta on her breaks.
Ino comes to realize that he knows everyone in this room except you.
(What he does know for sure, though, is that you’re cute.)
He doesn’t notice that he’s been staring at you from the other end of the table this entire time he’s been thinking, but you do, meeting his brown eyes with a blink of your own. You remember seeing Ino tagging along behind Nanami at the school; he’s got a smile like sunshine that’s very hard to forget.
You know he’s probably just spacing out in his drunken state, so you give him a wave and a lopsided grin, going back to listen to whatever blabber is coming out of Nitta’s mouth. (Your eyesight is blurry and you can’t understand a thing except a jumble of words because your head is spinning.) Something, something, Gojo. Stress. Something, something, let’s quit our jobs.
If Ino’s face wasn’t on fire already, it definitely is now.
He wasn’t expecting your little greeting, but now he’s embarrassed that he’d kept looking at you long enough to catch your attention. Placing his beanie over his head, he mulls over pulling it all the way down to hide how red he’s turned.
Ino checks the time on his phone—the trains are still running, and if he leaves now, he can catch the one departing soon. Slipping his cell back into his pocket, he stands up, stretching his arms out, barely catching his balance.
“Aw, leaving already, Ino?” A deep voice from his left calls out.
“Yeah!” He nods, “Gotta get up early tomorrow for a mission!”
Nitta pipes up suddenly, “Oh, can you take this one home? She wants to leave too, but she obviously can’t go herself.” Her finger gestures to you, head resting on your arms, facedown on the table.
“Yuh-huh!” You sit up then, protesting with a whiny edge to your voice, “I can totally go alone! I’m good!”
Your blonde friend, who has mostly sobered up, rolls her eyes, turning back to Ino, “She doesn’t live too far, it’s just a short train ride from here. That’ll be good for both of you.”
“Sure!” Ino optimistically shoots a thumbs up in her direction, “I can walk her home.” He peers over at you, begrudgingly rising from your seat to make your way towards him.
“You’ll thank me tomorrow!” Nitta calls out, and you roll your eyes because she’s right, Nitta’s always right, and you’ll send her another morning text about how she’s saved you from another regret-inducing bad decision.
Ino sticks his hands in his baggy pants pockets and waits until you’re right behind him to exit. When you step out into the street, the night breeze pricks your bare skin, reminding you that you should bring a jacket next time.
The city is bustling tonight, more than usual like it always does on weekends. The lights from the buildings and billboards are starting to wake you up like the frigid air does, and you think you might be sober by the time you get home. Ino feels the same way when the weather hits his cheeks.
“So…” he starts, the smile on his face unrelenting, “Where exactly do you live?”
Ino waits for your answer, but then he notices you slightly shivering and adds on to his question before you can reply. Under the streetlamp, he’s not sure whether its shine is what’s making you glow or the alcohol warping his brain. Whatever it is, your little pout and rosy face send a sharp pang! inside his chest.
“You look pretty,” he blurts out, before letting out a fake cough and covering up quickly, “C-cold. I mean, you look pretty cold.”
Arms crossed over the other as your hands rub your sleeveless shoulders, you dismiss his concern with a shake of your head, “It’s not that bad out here, I’ll be fine!”
(Ino Takuma now knows two things about you: one, you were too drunk to notice his slip up, and two, you are not a very good liar.)
Your companion raises an eyebrow, “You can wear my sweatshirt if you wanna. I don’t mind.” He tugs at the hem of his top, stripping it off of himself to hand it to you. The white T-shirt he’s wearing under rides up a little, exposing a sliver of his abdomen. You don’t see much, but from what you do see, you surmise that his baggy clothing does him a disservice.
“Here,” Ino says, and you, distracted by the small patch of skin you’d just seen, take the sweatshirt from him with a delayed movement. Slipping it on, you find that it’s extremely warm—just like him.
“Thanks. This was really nice of you.”
“You need it more than I do,” he shrugs, “Now, uh, where do you live again?”
“Um…” You squint, trying to collect the jumble of thoughts bouncing all over your brain, “It's just a stop away by train, really.”
“Okay!” He says, maybe a little too eager, giving you an aggressive thumbs up, “Let’s go to the train station!” Ino turns sharply like he might just march off. (He hopes he doesn’t remember how much of a fool he’s making himself to be the next day.)
But you laugh, and suddenly, none of it matters anymore—you think he’s funny. He thinks that’s funnier, and he laughs right back.
You take a step and almost fall over before he catches you by the arm.
“Easy!” He yelps in a high-pitched voice, and you giggle, stumbling back into an upright position.
“Y’know,” you grin mischievously, “We should get ice cream.”
“Eh…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’s still holding you up, “What we should get is water.”
“No, no, no,” you disagree, “Definitely ice cream. I’m thinking…strawberry. Yeah, strawberry’s my favorite.”
Shit. Ice cream does sound kinda good.
“Only if you don’t throw it up,” Ino says, “‘Cause…that would suck.”
“I swear,” you pipe up, without a beat, “I swear, no puking allowed!”
You hold out your pinky finger, a glint of fire in your eyes, and he knows it’d be a futile act to argue with someone this determined for dessert.
“Fine, fine,” he exhales, linking his pinky with yours, “I can’t resist ice cream. It’s one of my weaknesses.”
You cheer, yay! before tackling him into a large embrace, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug, squeezing him tightly to the point where he can barely breathe.
Whoa.
Ino burns red, patting your back before pushing you off of him gently, “Try not to like, kill me before we get the ice cream though.”
“Oh, sorry!” Your hands go over your mouth, “I just got so excited.”
“A reasonable reaction to ice cream,” he nods in understanding.
And so, you both go off to find the nearest konbini, with you practically skipping away, and him jogging to catch up, the effects of the plum wine from earlier buzzing through your bodies.
When the store doors slide open, you make a beeline for the freezers, grabbing your chosen food before rushing to the counter. As the cashier scans your items, your eyes wander to the rack to your left, and your stomach immediately starts making the decisions for you.
“Ino-kun,” you whisper, as if you’re telling him a secret. The cashier raises an eyebrow at you as he punches in your total amount on the register, but you don’t notice.
“What?” Ino whispers back, and you look around, before leaning in to explain your proposition.
“What if…we bought more snacks?” Your eyes go wide, “We could have…a second dinner.”
“That’s a totally terrible idea,” he replies, glancing at the shelf you’re pointing to, “...But hell yeah,” He smiles a lopsided smile and something flutters within you.
Butterflies? Your tummy rumbles, no, it’s definitely hunger. Though there’s no reason it can’t be both.
The employee clears his throat, “Ahem. Will that be all for you today?”
“No,” you start taking chip bags off of the stand, “We want these too. And these. And these. And also these.” One snack after the other gets placed onto the counter, and the cashier stares at you in shock.
“You heard the lady,” Ino says, leaning on the counter, “Put it on our tab.”
With the dirtiest look he can possibly muster, the cashier scans the endless amount of food you’ve bestowed him with as you and Ino make eye contact and giggle like idiots.
“That’ll be five thousand yen.”
“Five thousand?!” Ino’s jaw drops, “That’s a scam, if you ask me.”
Rolling his eyes, the employee says, “Well, if you’re not gonna pay that, either take some of this out or get out.”
“That is so rude,” you chime in, fumbling inside your purse in search for your wallet.
“No, I got this,” the sorcerer pulls out his own wallet smugly, “Here.” He places some coins in front of him, and the cashier groans.
“Sir, this is five hundred yen.”
“Oh…” is all Ino can say in his state, “Uh…gimme a sec.” He rummages for more money, but finds that the coins are all he has.
“Just pay me back later,” you tell him, before finally giving the worker the right amount. He quickly bags your food and doesn’t even bother to wish you a good night, considering you’ve ruined his.
“Bye!” You call out, turning to Ino and speaking quietly once again, “We should like, never go back to this konbini. He was really mean.”
“Yeah, agreed,” he says, before pulling out the ice cream from the bag, “Oh…it looks like we only got one.”
“Shit!” You exclaim, “I totally forgot to grab another one, I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he smiles, “We can share.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you really wanna go back into that konbini?”
“...No.”
“Then it’s settled. We can take turns having it.”
Ino unwraps the strawberry dessert, handing it out to you, “Take the first bite.”
“No, you.”
“No, you wanted this first, you should have it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“—You have it. It’s gonna melt if you don’t.”
Instead of taking the ice cream from him, you simply lean over and chomp!, causing him to pause in surprise.
“You bite your ice cream?!” He recoils, “You’re insane.”
“It’s not my fault that I’ve got teeth of steel.”
Ino pulls the ice cream back towards him, taking a lick, “That’s not normal, dude.”
“If you say so,” you’re sing-songy, walking away a little before stopping, “Hey, Ino? We should take a walk. I don’t wanna go home just yet.”
“Why?” He asks, going to eat the ice cream again, and you shrug.
“I’m having too much fun with you.”
“Really?” Ino is in disbelief, “...You wanna hang out with me? ”
“Mhm. I wanna get to know you.”
A sense of pride washes over him, and he puffs out his chest a little, “Well, I am a pretty cool guy, if I must say so myself.”
“You are. You’re…a really nice guy.” Your voice is soft now, “You gave me the only piece of fried mackerel left at the last drinking party.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you don’t remember?”
A look of shame crosses his face, “No, I don’t, sorry. I wish I did, though.”
“I guess you were too drunk.”
“But I’m not right now!” He jumps in, “I-I mean, I’m not that wasted right now. I’ll..remember tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? Wanna bet?” You smirk, “If you forget what happened tomorrow, you have to pay me back that five thousand yen and buy me lunch.” You’re not exactly sure what’s come over you, but there’s a flirtatious edge to your remarks. Ino picks it up—but he’s also not sure if you’re actually hitting on him or just messing around.
“Fair,” he contemplates, “But if I don’t forget?”
You tilt your head, “What do you want?”
What do I want? Ino furrows his brows, “I guess…I’d also like lunch with you.”
“And the five thousand?”
“I don’t mind paying it back, either.”
“So what I’m hearing is that you just want to get lunch with me. You got a crush on me or something?” You tease, and before he can reply, you follow it with, “Just kidding!”
At this point, it’d be a useless feat to count how many times you’ve made him blush tonight, but he ignores it before he steps up to your side, “Maybe you have a crush on me, I don’t know.”
“Throwing it back to me, huh? Someone’s in denial.”
“Hey!” He protests, and then notices that the ice cream is starting to drip, “You should probably eat the rest of this, it’s melting pretty fast.” So you do just that—practically snatching the dessert from him to scarf the rest of it down.
“Next,” you say, looking at the bag of various chips he’s holding, and he makes a face.
“Maybe we should hold off, actually, you did promise you wouldn’t throw up.”
“Please?” You give him puppy dog eyes, and he realizes that out of all the weaknesses he has, this might just be the one that gets him in less than a second. (He doesn’t know why, but the more time he spends with you, the more he feels like you’re reeling him in with your gravity.)
Ino lets you take your pick and you pull out fish chips, which are coincidentally his favorite. You share the chips too, continuing your walk around the city until you reach a small park, completely abandoned in the darkness, save for a few lamp lights.
Somehow, you both end up on the swings, lazily moving your legs up and down, not enough to fly so high. The stars are unexpectedly bright, and you close your eyes, pensively appreciating their beauty.
(You don’t know, but Ino’s appreciating yours.)
“Let’s play a game,” you turn to him, “Two truths and a lie.”
“Why?” He asks, setting the bag of food down by his feet.
“‘Cause, I’m trying to get to know you. Don’t you wanna know me too?”
He shrugs, “Go for it, I guess.”
You tap your index finger on your chin, “We’ll play three rounds.”
“Does the winner get a prize?”
“Sure. Anything they want.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah, anything.”
Ino makes a face before he agrees to your terms, “Okay, can I go first then?” You nod, and he goes on.
“I kinda like soap operas, I’m an only child, and I broke someone’s toe during training once. By accident, though, I promise.”
“I believe you about that,” you laugh, “You like soap operas? What’s your favorite?”
“I don’t know…whatever my grandma has on whenever I come over.”
“Suspicious. Can’t name a single show.”
“I only said I kinda liked them!”
“I think that’s the lie.”
He grins, and makes a buzzer sound, “Wrong! I won round one!”
“You’re not an only child?”
“Nope. I have an older sister. She’s ten years older than me, though.”
“Now that you mention it, you do give off little brother vibes. I should’ve known.”
“What? How do I give off little brother vibes?!”
“That! The tone you just had.”
“That makes no sense,” he pouts, “At all. But whatever, it's your turn.”
You think over what to say next, until you get your aha! moment and practically squeal as you find your answers, “I can play piano and violin, I hate caramel, and on my tenth birthday, I sprained my ankle.”
“Mm…caramel. Who could hate caramel? That stuff’s amazing.”
“Nope! I fell off my brand new bike on my birthday. I can’t stand caramel, the texture just doesn’t do it for me.”
“Damn, that’s sad.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, I was fine after a few weeks.”
“No, I meant the caramel, you’re missing out on some good ass desserts.”
Your mouth is parted, temporarily shocked by his dismissal of your past injury—but then, the corners of your mouth twitch up, and you’re both cackling till your sides hurt.
“My turn again,” Ino says, “The first time I ever got drunk, I got on a table and started singing a commercial jingle, I’m lactose intolerant, and my favorite subject is Science.”
“Lactose intolerance,” you’re confident about your answer, “You wouldn’t eat ice cream if you had it.”
“Well, actually,” he grins, “I do have it. I just don’t pay it any mind.”
“You were telling me that I was insane for biting my ice cream, while you’re out here consuming dairy when you’re technically allergic? What’s the lie, then?”
“The drunk story. I did get on a table to sing, but it wasn’t a commercial jingle, it was a song my mom used to play all the time when I was a kid.”
“So you’re a singer?”
“Only sometimes.”
“You have to give me a performance one day,” you request, finishing off the last of your fish chips, still swinging a little.
Instead of going to reply with the last round of your two truths and a lie, you freeze. Ino notices that your face has turned green.
“Whoa, are you okay?”
To which you nod and say, “I think so?” Before getting up from the swing and promptly puking on the street, “Oh…I guess not.”
“We gotta get you home,” Ino picks up the snack bag and follows you, “How drunk are you?”
“Mm, not as bad as earlier,” you say, “But you’re right, we should probably head for the train.”
Fast forward, and you’re making your way to the train station, passing by familiar streets. Out of the corner of your eye, you see something small rustle in the pile of trash near an alley.
“Are those—rats?” You gasp, “They’re so cute!”
Ino stiffens, “Are you sure you’re not that inebriated?”
(He hates rats, but for your sake and his, he decides to brave this miniscule storm.)
“Nooo,” you’re childish about this, and he knows that he needs to buy you water from one of the train station vending machines, which he does once you arrive.
“Drink up,” he orders gently, and you obey, sipping slowly. He drinks out of the bottle too when you have your fill, the train lights catching his attention, “It’s this one, right?”
You look at the flashing sign and nod, the two of you waiting for the doors to open. It occurs to you that you’re still wearing his sweatshirt, “Do you want this back? I’m not that cold anymore.”
He scrunches up his nose, “It’s fine, you can give it to me the next time I see you.”
Good, a part of you says, I didn’t really want to give it back anyway.
The train ride home is a peaceful one as always, so much so that you find yourself leaning on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed into a soft slumber. He gazes down at you, making sure not to move one bit so as not to wake you up.
Somehow, he feels like this just makes sense—you and him together, a blur in the night—like you’ve done this too many times before.
Was this…a date?
His thoughts fade away once he gives in to the persuasive beckoning of well-deserved sleep.
Ten minutes later: you miss your stop.
Ino wakes up slowly, vision fuzzy as he tries to read your location—
“—Oh, shit,” he jolts up a bit, shaking you lightly, “You said you lived a stop away, right? I think we passed it.”
You rub your eyes, but you’re too tired to react with any shock, “That’s okay, it’s not too bad of a walk from this next stop.”
This was a lie. As Ino figures out once you get off the train, the walk to your address is another twenty minutes, passing by a variety of houses—but the air is pleasant, and you’re both pretty much sober now.
He’s worried that you’ll fall asleep again and just drop to the concrete, so he puts his arm around you instinctively. He doesn’t expect you to press against him slightly, hand around his waist, and his heart starts thumping.
(He hopes you can’t hear it, but you can, and it makes you smile.)
“Ino?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I see you again?”
“Huh?”
You repeat, “Can I see you again? I like…spending time with you.”
I think I like you.
A firework explodes in Ino’s chest, and he scratches the back of his head, “I like spending time with you, too. And I’d like to do it…not drunk, next time. If that’s okay.”
You burst out laughing, “Yeah, that’s okay.”
A sudden silence fogs over the moment, poorly disguising the incessant tension lingering in the air.
“Can I ask for another thing?” You peer at him, cheeks dusted pink, and he nods, “Can I…hold your hand? So I don’t, um, fall, you know.”
He thinks his heart is going to tear itself out of his chest, the way it’s hammering over and over. Swallowing, he also nods to this, taking your hand in his.
The quiet returns before you cough a little, “Your hand…it’s, uh, sweaty.”
“O-oh, sorry,” Ino is sheepish, but you squeeze the clamminess anyways.
“I don’t mind,” you add, “It’s warm.”
“Yours too.”
You hold hands, not saying anything to each other, barely even meeting eyes lest you both explode, until you speak up again.
“What was the song your mom used to play? The one you sang when you got drunk the first time?”
“...Why?”
A sly grin grows on your face, “I wanna hear it.”
“No way!”
“C’mon, please?”
(Again, he is not immune to your begging.)
Squeezing your hand, he starts the beginning verse, and he’s not that bad. In fact, you could listen to him sing any day. You realize that you know the song too, and join him, his eyes sparkling once you do, shining sharper than the constellations above you.
And then you’re giggling through the lyrics, forgetting words and lines and nothing else seems to matter but the way you work in tandem, hands intertwined like your destinies.
But fatigue takes over your body once again, and you yawn—it’s definitely past your bedtime.
“You can get on my back,” Ino offers, “It’s obvious that you’re beat.”
“I’m still okay to walk.” (You’re not.)
“You look like you’re gonna pass out any minute now.”
“Well, if you insist,” you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face. He squats down for you so you can climb on him, and he hoists you up, holding you by your legs. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling into the side of it, and his skin feels like it’s burning.
“Your hair is soft,” your lips almost brush against his ear, “It smells like pine.”
“Th-thanks,” he stutters, his feet growing heavier with each step—he feels like he’s about to melt into the ground, until he reaches a hill, “Hold on tight, we’re going up a slope.”
“We’re gonna fall,” you mumble into his shoulder, “And we’re gonna die.”
He scoffs, but he’s amused, “First of all, that’s pretty dramatic, and second of all, do you not have faith in me?”
“I have faith that we’re gonna fall.”
“We are not.”
“We are.”
“Not.”
“Are.”
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
“Almost…there…” Ino murmurs beneath his breath.
You pat him, “Are you tired? You can put me down if you want.”
“No, it’s just a little bit further—”
“Okay, if you say so.”
Eventually, he reaches the top where the street is flat again, going ha!, “See, what’d I tell you? We didn’t fall.”
You yawn again, clutching him a little harder, whispering in the wind, “I might’ve, though.”
He stops in his tracks.
“M-might’ve what?”
You don’t answer—Ino realizes you’ve slipped into sleep again.
(It’s a good thing he remembers your house number.)
Reaching your gate, he wakes you up and puts you and the plastic bag of snacks down. He has his hands in his pockets again, “So…this is it, then?”
I don’t want this to be it.
“Yeah, this is it,” you reply, “My place.”
He tugs his beanie down his head, slightly anxious, “Uh, thanks for, hanging out with me. And for the snacks.”
“Y-yeah!” You’re nervous too, fidgeting with your long sleeves, “Thank you for walking me home.”
“Any time,” Ino says, and you fall into another awkward silence, which you break when you have another idea.
“Ino-kun,” you start, “Two truths and a lie.”
“You wanna keep playing?”
“Two truths and a lie,” you repeat, “We didn’t finish the last round.”
“Okay.”
“First,” you start, “I could go for another ice cream.”
“You just threw up half an hour ago.”
“Shush! Let me finish!” You continue, “I could run a marathon right now.”
“You’re too tired to walk—”
“—And I want to kiss you.”
No fucking way.
“You—what?” He’s stunned, eyes wide, slack jawed like he’s learned the biggest secret of the universe.
“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, this time firmer, a steadfast gleam in your eye.
“That’s—uh—you—”
“I’ll give you a hint,” you lean in close to him, “The last one’s not a lie.”
He gulps, trying to gather what to say next, before he finally musters up his courage, “Okay, my turn.”
“Huh? But you didn’t even choose.”
“No, no, you gotta shush this time,” Ino says, “The ice cream we had earlier wasn’t that good.”
“Is that why you gave the rest to me?”
“Maybe…and I could also run a marathon right now.”
“Really?”
Really, with the way you’re making me feel.
“And the last thing is…I want to…kiss you, too.”
There it is, out in the open—the unyielding truth that you both held inside the whole night, until now.
“So kiss me,” is all you respond with, not noticing how close you’ve gotten. Your hands are on his chest now, fingers practically clasping at his T-shirt—and he doesn’t hesitate.
He takes your face into his hands and your lips meet, crashing softly and soundly in a sweetened kiss, exchanging inhales and exhales and perhaps the promise that the rest of your days may be spent together.
You kiss until there isn’t enough breath left in you—there’s not enough time in the world either.
I want to do this forever.
“Which one was the lie?” You ask, when you pull away. You brush noses with him, and he gives the tip of yours a kiss.
“Ice cream. It was good, but only ‘cause we shared it together,” he flushes a deep shade of red, “Sorry, that’s kinda dumb, now that I said it out loud.”
“No!” You almost snap, “It’s not dumb, it’s cute. You’re cute.”
“You think…I’m cute?”
“Duh. I kissed you.”
“Well—”
You stop him from going on with another kiss, “That bet we made earlier…I think both of us are gonna win it.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “You don’t think we’ve won already?”
“Guess you’re right. And at this point…the game prize doesn’t matter either, huh?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Ino leans in to kiss you again, “I’d take you out no matter what.”
His crooked smile makes a comeback, and now you’re falling through the cracks on the sidewalk, wobbly kneed and butterflies galore.
“You’re free tomorrow, right?”
“After my mission, yeah.”
You take his hand, “How do burgers and fries sound to you?”
“Damn good.”
“Then…lunch tomorrow?” There's a hopeful lilt in your voice, even though you already know his answer.
“Lunch tomorrow," he lifts your hand up and presses his lips to your palm, sending shockwaves through your entire body.
“Goodnight, Ino.” you go for another kiss, and he stops you, wait.
“Takuma,” he says, “You can just call me Takuma.”
“Okay,” you lean in, “Goodnight, Takuma.”
He smiles, the widest he’s ever smiled in his entire life, and your last goodnight kiss is like the closest thing to heaven—if I could catch a star, this is what it would feel like.
When you unlock the house gate and climb up the steps, he waves bye to you and goes off, turning away.
You can hear him whooping from your doorstep, watching him fist pump into the air, and you laugh.
Ino Takuma can’t hold his liquor for shit. (But then again, neither can you—and that’s what you’ve got to thank for this night you’ll never forget.)