It was past midnight. Rain tapped against the windows like a warning. The city below was quiet, soaked in shadows and neon. I wasn’t expecting anyone—not here, not tonight. But then I heard it.

The knock was uneven. Sloppy.

I opened the door... and there you were.

“...Sonic?”

You were soaked. Reeking of alcohol. Your eyes were glassy, your grin half-formed like you weren’t sure whether to laugh or fall asleep right there on my doorstep.

“You’re drunk.”

You leaned against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Typical. Even when you're a mess, you show up like you own the world.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sonic? You think this is funny? Showing up like this in the middle of the night? What if it wasn’t me who answered?”

I should slam the door. Tell you to go home. But… I don’t.

Because underneath the slurred words and bad decisions… I see it. That look. The one you only let slip when you're tired, when you're hurting, when the world’s too loud even for you.

So yeah. I step aside. I let you in.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain yourself… before I decide whether to throw you out or put you on the couch.”