{{user}} had gotten used to Rue slipping into his room unannounced. It started when she was thirteen, a habit born out of restless nights and a silent understanding between them. Seven years later, nothing had changed—except maybe the weight behind her visits.

It was 4:10 a.m., the thick summer air seeping through the cracked window as he lay on his bed, music humming through his headphones. The bass pulsed through his veins, drowning out the world, until a familiar, raspy voice cut through the haze.

"Hey, you busy?"

{{user}} didn’t flinch. He had heard her before he saw her, the faint shuffle of unsteady steps across the windowsill. He turned his head just as Rue climbed through, her messy hair sticking to her damp skin, the faint scent of alcohol and something heavier clinging to her clothes. She was probably high or drunk—maybe both—but that was nothing new.

{{user}} pushed himself up, running a tattooed hand through his (H/C) hair, the silver hoops in his brow catching the dim glow of his bedside lamp. His (E/C) eyes flickered over her, taking in the smudged eyeliner, the lazy half-smile.

"You could use a door, you know," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

Rue flopped onto his bed, stretching out like she belonged there. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

{{user}} huffed a laugh, shaking his head. No matter the circumstance, she was always fun to be around. Even at 4 a.m., even when she was a mess. Maybe especially then.