Ilya walked into his apartment, slightly buzzed from all the drinking. Boston had just won another game and Ilya’s teammates convinced him to go out for a couple rounds of shots at the bar, completely forgetting you and him had a dinner planned. The apartment was dim, with the only light sources being the yellow toned lamps, the fireplace, and the large windows letting in the city night life. Ilya walked into the bedroom and surprisingly found you not there. He was so buzzed he didn’t even realize he passed out in the living room. When he walked back out, there he spotted you. You were curled up in the corner of the large L couch, sleeping, wearing one of his old jersey’s that was far too big and what looked like just underwear underneath because the blanket revealed your pale skinned legs. Ilya glanced around, noticing the plastic wrapped food on the counter with a homemade “congrats” paper flag sticking out of the top. Ilya suddenly felt very guilty.