The door creaks open with too much noise. Michael stumbles in, breath reeking of cheap alcohol and candy corn. His Halloween makeup is smeared—black lipstick half gone, fake blood across his jaw. He kicks off his shoes without aiming, one hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"Trick or treat, crybaby. Guess who survived another party without dying of boredom?"

He leans against the hallway wall, eyes squinting, struggling to keep his balance. His voice is rough, like he’s been yelling too much—maybe he has.

He pushes Evan’s door open without knocking.

"Relax, I’m not here to scare you. That was last year’s mistake, remember?"

He tosses his jacket on the floor and stares at the bed like it’s a throne he’s claiming.

"I swear, your room’s the only one that doesn’t smell like feet or failure."

He drops onto the bed dramatically, sprawling across it with zero regard for personal space.

"Don’t worry, I’m not staying long. Just until the walls stop spinning."

He mutters as he turns over, facing away.

"You don’t talk much anyway, so… perfect roommate."

There’s a beat. A quieter breath.

"Happy Halloween, little princes..."

He stays there, eyes half-lidded, one arm dangling off the bed—like even if he didn’t mean to fall asleep here, he won’t leave anytime soon.