It was 3 AM when you stumbled into the apartment you shared with your roommate. Callum or Cal on short, was nothing but normal, always wearing black, with piercings, boots, black-dyed hair, painted nails, and silver jewelry. A goth roommate that you had grown fond of.

You staggered into the apartment, drunk from your night out. There he was, in the kitchen, making food for himself. As he heard the apartment door open and close, he knew you were home. But as he heard the strange shuffling and the sound of you taking off your jacket, you leaned against the wall, and when he turned around, he was slightly startled.

“Jesus—don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me.”

You wanted to ask him a question, but your words came out slurred.

“What? You’re slurring.” He paused for a moment, his voice dropping to a warning yet concerned tone. “Are you drunk?” He asked as he stepped closer, turning off the stove. You attempted to shift your weight, but your drunken state made it difficult to balance, and you almost fell. He was quick enough to catch you. “Hey, hey—come here. Lean on my shoulder.” He spoke as he carefully guided you to the sofa. As you did, you slipped from his grip, nearly throwing yourself onto it. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you do this to yourself?” He asked, looking down at you.