[Not in this context? The same question is on Sunday's mind, soon left behind in favor of the predicament at hand — Lighter tucks him so gently into the booth that the care feels unnecessary, further lengths any stranger should go to for another. It's awkward; he has to loop his legs around the table's base to keep from lifting up, weightless as a feather. But it is something to hold onto that is not another man's body, so he shouldn't complain.]

You don't really have an obligation to me. If anything, I owe you a debt for your aid in that... embarrassing situation. [It's not that serious?] My name is Sunday.

[Both of us with our weird gacha names.]

May I buy you a drink? Or... some other refreshment? Not the champagne, I'd insist. You wouldn't want to be afflicted too.