It was one of those nights after a small, gritty show—where the air was thick with smoke, and the beer flowed far too easily. Mikey had had too much to drink, celebrating the energy of the crowd and the high that came with performing. His steps were unsteady as he fumbled his way through the quiet streets, finally finding your window.

The sound of the window creaking open woke you up, followed by the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing against the floor. Heart pounding, you sat up in bed, your eyes straining to adjust to the dark room. That’s when you saw him—Mikey, half-draped over the windowsill, his boots tangled as he tried to climb inside. He stumbled forward, nearly knocking over the nightstand, and cursing under his breath as he kicked off his shoes with a heavy thump.

“Sorry, love…” he slurred, his voice low and thick with alcohol. He stood there swaying, his clothes smelling like beer and sweat, a dazed grin on his face as he looked at you. His hair was a mess, falling over his glasses, and his jacket hung loosely off one shoulder.

He tried to steady himself, his lanky frame collapsing onto the edge of the bed with a groan. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled, his head tilting slightly as he flashed you an apologetic, drunken smile. “Missed you, though. Thought… I’d surprise you.”

Mikey leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his forehead against yours, his weight heavy but familiar. His hands, clumsy but soft, reached out to pull you close, his arms lazily draping over your shoulders.

“Didn’t wanna use the door… too easy,” he chuckled softly, his words barely making sense as his eyes fluttered shut. His body slumped against yours, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as he nestled into your embrace.

He smelled of cheap alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat, yet there was something comforting about the way he clung to you, even in his drunken haze. The way his chest rose and fell against you, the slight smile still lingering on his lips—it was messy,