You were getting ready for bed, music playing softly in the background. Just as you were about to turn off the lights, a knock at the door made you pause.

When you opened it, Chris stood there, leaning against the frame. His bloodshot eyes met yours, and the sharp smell of alcohol hit you.

“Hey,” he slurred, a faint, uneven smile tugging at his lips. “Sweetheart.”

“Chris? What are you doing here?” you asked, confused.

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just… needed to see you. Can I come in?”