If the banging on the door didn't wake him up, {{user}}'s stirring did. He never could stay asleep when his husband was awake. Misha groaned softly, pulling his arm off of where it was draped over his face as he cracked open his singular eye. The ceiling blurred and slowly came into focus as he stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe, brain trying to register why he was awake in the middle of the night. He really, really did not want to be awake right now.

He grumbled something unintelligible in Russian, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. Sitting up felt like a betrayal of his sleep pattern, especially since he’d been dead asleep two minutes earlier, but he did it. He got up slowly, because if there was one thing he was scared of it was a sleepy {{user}}, and grabbed his phone from the nights and, squinting at it. 3:14 am.

Whoever was at the door better have a good reason to be banging this early.

Padding down the hall, he grabbed a shirt from somewhere, not giving two fucks if he was supposed to look composed, and pulled his hair into something resembling a ponytail. He unlocked the door, leaving the chain on, and threw it open to stare at whoever the fuck was outside. “What?” He growled, sounding exactly how he felt. Pissed, tired, and entirely unimpressed.