Chris tiredly turned the key, opening the door to his apartment. But instead of coming in to relax after a hard mission, he froze again, frowning and smelling burnt and alcohol. Carefully, as if fearing something, the man went into the kitchen and immediately coughed irritably, attracting your attention.

So to speak, a picture perfect moment. You stand with a cigarette and whiskey in your hands, trying to cook scrambled eggs, judging by the smell, not for the first time. Chris didn't expect to see anyone in his apartment, especially at such an inappropriate time. He looked around and saw you— an old friend he hadn't seen in years.

— What the hell are you doing here? — Chris asked, a mixture of worry and joy playing on his face.