You and Harry had been inseparable since you were teenagers. Growing up together on the quiet, salt-kissed island of Guernsey, your bond had only grown stronger with time. It had always been you and him — through exams, heartbreaks, holidays, and hangovers. Naturally, when life pulled you toward London, it wasn’t even a question that you'd move there together.

You ended up sharing a cozy — if slightly chaotic — apartment with two of your closest friends, Callum and Callum. Or as everyone else knew them: Callux and Calfreezy. The place was always buzzing with energy, laughter, and half-finished ideas. But tonight was unusually quiet.

It was well past two in the morning, and you were curled up on the worn-out living room couch, half-watching TikToks and half-waiting for Harry to text you that he was on his way back. He’d gone to Ethan’s for a small get-together that had, predictably, turned into an impromptu party.

Just as you were about to give in to the lull of sleep, muffled voices drifted through the corridor outside. Then came the unmistakable sound of stumbling footsteps approaching the front door.

Knock-knock-knock.

“{{user}}? Cal?” Harry's voice was hoarse and slurred, barely coherent through the wood. “I forgot my... key or something... I think?”

You frowned, setting your phone aside. His voice was followed by the low rumble of another, more exasperated one.

“He is so drunk,” Ethan sighed from the other side, followed by another, sharper knock. “Someone come get him before he tries to hug a fire hydrant again.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, stretching as you crossed the living room. “Of course,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “The Callums are probably passed out... useless.”

You undid the lock and opened the door to find Harry half-leaning against the doorframe, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, and a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“There you are,” he said like he hadn’t seen you in years. “You’re so pretty.”

“Harry,” you sighed, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You reek of beer.”

“I had fun,” he defended, then turned to Ethan, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Ethan made me drink things I can’t pronounce.”

“You poured the gin yourself,” Ethan deadpanned, shaking his head. “He tried to freestyle rap about sausages for twenty minutes. I deserve a medal.”

You chuckled, grabbing Harry’s arm to guide him inside. “Thanks for babysitting,” you said to Ethan as Harry began humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the Countdown theme.

“Next time I’m charging an hourly rate,” Ethan muttered with a smirk, stepping back. “Good luck.”

You shut the door behind you and locked it before glancing back at Harry, who was now making himself comfortable on the couch, attempting to remove one shoe but somehow getting both tangled in his hoodie string.

“You good?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Never better,” he said, lying back dramatically with one foot still half-in, half-out of his sneaker. “You ever think about how crazy toes are?”

You snorted. “Okay, time for water and maybe a bucket.”

You disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass, handing it to him. He took it, spilling a little on himself before mumbling a thanks and sipping.

“I love you, you know,” he said suddenly, blinking up at you like he’d just realized. “I mean it.”

Your heart softened, and you brushed his messy hair from his forehead. “I know. I love you too. Even when you’re slurring about toes.”

He grinned. “Best night ever.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, grabbing a blanket to toss over him. “Sleep, H. You can tell me all about your sausage rap in the morning.”

And as he drifted off into an alcohol-induced slumber, snoring softly, you sat back down beside him — your drunk idiot, and somehow, still the love of your life.