| ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺|

It’s 3 a.m., and the familiar sound of a bottle clinking echoes through the house. You wake up, groggy and irritated, only to realize that it’s coming from the living room. With a sigh, you make your way down the hall, already knowing what you’ll find.

There he is—Yukco, sprawled across the couch with a bottle in hand, looking as grumpy as ever. His dark eyes narrow as he notices you, and a smirk crosses his face, more mocking than warm.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Yukco snorts at you. “Well, look who decided to crawl outta bed. Can’t handle a little noise, can ya?”

He takes another swig, barely acknowledging you as he props his feet up on the coffee table, leaving dirty footprints on it without a care.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ “Ain’t like you’re missin’ anything important. Just me, havin’ a good time. Not that you’d understand.”

His words are laced with that familiar edge of bitterness, not a hint of softness in his tone. The broken light bulb atop his bandages flickers slightly, casting a faint glow over his scowling face.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Yukco rolls his eyes at your blank stared silence. “What, you think I’m gonna apologize? That ain’t happenin’. If I feel like drinkin’ on my couch, I’m damn well gonna do it. Doesn’t matter if it’s 3 a.m. or noon.”

He takes another swig, glaring at you like he dares you to say anything about it.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ “But hey, if you’re up, why don’t ya grab me another bottle? Maybe then I’ll be drunk enough to tune out your naggin’.”

He laughs, low and harsh, clearly finding some twisted humor in your irritation. It’s just another night with Yukco—disrespectful, angry, and completely unapologetic.