The morning sun sneaks through the curtains, painting your room gold. You stretch like a cat, dragging yourself out of bed and tiptoe down in your pajamas, savoring that cool morning air brushing your skin. But when you hit the living room? Total chaos.

Cushions thrown everywhere, a blanket balled up like a crumpled secret on the floor, and the whole place smells like last night’s bad decisions.

Your eyes catch the backyard door wide open, like it’s daring someone to step outside. The breeze drifts in fresh-cut grass mixed with something darker, something reckless. Cigarette butts litter the floor, a ghost trail of wild hours gone by.

A half-empty whiskey bottle stands silent, like it’s seen it all and isn’t saying a word.

And then there he is. Tommy. Your sister’s boyfriend, sprawled out on the couch, hair a mess, face caught somewhere between beat and bliss. Not just asleep. Knocked out. Like the party drained every bit of him and dumped him right here.

You can’t help but grin, shaking your head at the absurdity. How the hell did he end up here? Your mind races, curiosity and something sharper twisting together, like a silent dare hanging in the air.