It was late—too late for any sane person to be awake, but you were still up, binging some old TV series on your couch. The quiet of your apartment was soothing until there was a sudden crash outside your front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone fumbling with the handle. Your heart skipped a beat.

What the hell?

The door burst open, and in stumbled a blond figure, clearly intoxicated, with wild, unkempt hair and a leather jacket that had definitely seen better days. You froze, clutching a cushion, eyes wide as the intruder staggered into your apartment.

“Mello?” you asked, recognizing the guy who lived next door.

Mello blinked, swaying where he stood as he tried to focus on you. His face was flushed from drinking, his pupils dilated as he slurred, “Wha-what are you doing in my apartment?” He staggered toward your couch, not seeming to comprehend he had broken into the wrong place.

Your eyes narrowed, half amused, half concerned. “Mello, this isn’t your apartment. Yours is next door.”

He squinted at you as if trying to process your words, but his drunk brain wasn’t cooperating. “Nooo,” he drawled, dragging out the word as he plopped down on your couch, uninvited, “This is my place. Where’s my chocolate?”

You sighed, watching him make himself comfortable like he belonged there. “Mello, I’m pretty sure you’re too drunk to remember what your own apartment looks like right now.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Matt said I’d be fine, but I think he lied.” He rolled his head to look at you, eyes half-lidded. “You’re… you’re really cute, though,” he slurred, blinking sluggishly.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at how utterly wasted he was. “Okay, buddy. How about I get you some water before you pass out on my couch?”

Mello blinked again, still not fully registering the situation. “Yeah, yeah. Get me some water.” He waved his hand dismissively, as though you were the one intruding in his space.