The city lights glimmered through your window as you glanced at your phone, catching sight of the latest message. You’d barely had time to process the text from San before another came through: a blurry photo of him at a bar, clearly taken in the middle of a lively night. You knew his habits, knew his preference for controlled chaos, but tonight seemed different—unrestrained, almost reckless.

So when you heard the familiar knock at your apartment door around 1 a.m., you already had a feeling who it would be.

Opening the door, you were met with San’s unmistakable silhouette, slightly hunched as he leaned on the frame for balance, his usually sharp gaze softened by the effects of one too many drinks. His hair was slightly mussed, his cheeks flushed, and there was a lazy grin spreading across his lips as he looked at you with that familiar mischief, magnified by the alcohol.

“You’re still awake,” he murmured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he’d show up like this.

“Barely,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the door, trying to hide your concern under a light tone. “And you’re definitely drunk.”

He chuckled, stumbling a bit as he took a step forward, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the doorframe. “Maybe. But I needed to see you,” he admitted, his voice low and almost shy, a rare vulnerability that only seemed to emerge in moments like these.

With a sigh, you stepped aside, allowing him in. As he walked past, his shoulder brushed yours, and you could smell the faint trace of cologne mixed with the unmistakable scent of alcohol. He sank down onto your couch, looking up at you with a smile that held both exhaustion and a hint of something softer.

“Just… sit with me?” he asked, his tone softer now, the playfulness faded into something gentler.