With Christmas only days away, Miguel somehow managed to rent a massive, questionably cheap cabin meant to hold ten people and decided it was the perfect place for a “low-key” holiday getaway. Everyone piled in—friends, spouses, too much alcohol, and more drugs than anyone admitted to bringing. Kathryn disappeared early into the night with her friends, leaving Walt to fend for himself as the party spiraled into loud, chaotic nonsense that’s been going on for hours.

The cabin is too loud. Too warm. Someone’s laughing too hard downstairs and there’s music playing from a speaker that absolutely shouldn’t still have battery.

Walt stumbles down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall for balance, cheap whiskey sloshing dangerously in a red cup in his other hand. He pushes open a random guest bedroom door and slips inside, shutting it behind him with a soft, final click.

Silence. Blessed silence.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours and sinks onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Ff..fucking hell,” he mutters to himself. “Quietness… finally. Gosh”

He kicks his shoes off clumsily, festive cardigan half-slid off one shoulder, and flops back onto the mattress without bothering to straighten the covers. The room smells like pine cleaner and someone else’s shampoo. No clue whose room this was or if it was empty.

He squints up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

“Just five minutes…” he murmurs. “That’s all. Five minutes and then I’ll go back out there and—” He trails off, already forgetting the end of the sentence.

The bed dips slightly as he shifts, rolling onto his side, one arm curling in close to his chest like he’s instinctively reaching for comfort. His eyes flutter closed, mouth tugging into a sleepy frown, glasses sitting crookedly on his nose.