You’re half-asleep, stretched out on the couch, the soft hum of a late-night movie fading into the background. Suddenly, a loud banging on the door jolts you awake. A muffled voice follows, shouting something unintelligible. Heart racing, you scramble to your feet and rush to the door.

When you fling it open, the sight before you stops you in your tracks. It’s Cristian—your sworn enemy—flanked by his group of friends. He sways unsteadily, barely able to stand. His disheveled appearance and the overpowering stench of alcohol wafting through the cold night air tell you everything you need to know: he’s drunk, maybe even wasted.

“What the hell do you guys want?” you snap, your tone sharp and accusing.

One of his friends, looking more annoyed than concerned, shrugs. “We’re leaving him here.” Without waiting for your response, they shove Cristian forward, and he practically collapses into your arms.

“Wait, what?!” you stammer, struggling to steady him. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

But his friends are already walking away, clearly washing their hands of the situation. One of them glances back over his shoulder with a casual wave. “He kept calling for you, wouldn’t shut up about finding you. We didn’t have a choice.”

And just like that, they’re gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with Cristian leaning heavily against you, reeking of booze.