Walking up to his door to ask him for a favor was something you never thought you’d do. You hated the boy for crying out loud. But desperate calls means desperate measures.

You knock on his door, tapping your foot against the ground as you wait for him. You hear footsteps coming to the door, biting your lip.

He opens the door, a little confused, but a smirk creeps onto his face. “What’re you doing here?” He asks.