It wouldn't be until the third knock, the sound of knuckles raking heavily across the wood of the front door, that you'd swing your legs off the bed. Eyelids heavy, and demeanor bitter and cranky since you really didn't care to be woken up so late, your feet would pad against the floorboards as they led you down the hall.
And the knocking would return again, louder this time as you neared the door. With a irritated sigh, you'd tug at the sleeve of your sweater before bringing yourself up to your tippy toes, trying to get a look at who was causing a scene on the other side.
A familiar nappy head of hair was all you could manage to get, but it was enough for you to figure out who it was. Upon opening the door, a gust of cold air would welcome itself into your home, making you shudder as it hit your bare legs.
"Thank God," he'd breath exasperatedly, "it's fuckin cold out there!"
"Tay, do you know how late it is?" You'd sigh, crossing your sweater over your chest.
He was well aware of what time it was. At least, he thought he was. When he'd departed the bar, abandoning his friends and his half finished drink, he had remembered it being close to 3 am.
The walk here felt like hours, though in reality it was really only 30 minutes at the very most. He wasn't quite sure how he ended up here, eyes bloodshot and lip quivering in the nippy wind, standing on your doorstep at the very early hours of the morning.
It seemed almost like an instinct to him, rather than catching a ride back to his place or simply calling a cab or an Uber, to take the journey to your house.
He'd shrug innocently, a sloppy smile on his lips as he politely nudged past you and invited himself in. A very content, cozy sigh would come from him as he immersed himself to the heat. And from you, nothing more than a subtle grunt, as you were annoyed and very tired.
It's not that you weren't thrilled to see him, as it had been a couple of weeks since the two of you had last crossed paths, but the timing was all wrong. Literally.
You hadn't quite signed up to play caretaker tonight, especially at 3 in the morning after a long day of work, and you knew that was the role you'd be taking on when you got a better look at him in the dim light in the foyer.
With his eyelids sagging, matched with a dopey and slightly absent expression, it looked as if he was almost floating away to another world. Knowing him as long as you did, years that you could count on both hands, you knew that he was well past drunk. Plastered, even.
It was a side of Tay you'd gotten to know quite well over the years, and even come to enjoy, just not when you were trying to sleep.
"Y'alright?" You'd giggle, watching him trip over himself on the way to the kitchen.
"Yeah." He slurred.
Eyes wide, as you were now completely awake, you'd nod amusingly before guiding him to the barstool at the kitchen counter. He'd plop himself right down, before shimmying off his coat and hurling it onto the chair beside him.
You'd have to glance over at him every few minutes, to make sure he hadn't teetered off the seat and nose dived onto the floor. First order of business was to get him some water, before you'd throw some food together and try to convince him into eating.
He'd be feeling something, watching you saunter around the kitchen in your pajamas. It'd be a familiar feeling, one that he always seems to get when he's around you, whether he was drunk or sober. It'd start in his stomach, the fluttering sensation, before it'd move to his legs. So he'd have to wiggle them, as they'd start to tingle ever so slightly. (An: that sounded corny asf in my head🤣)
