drunk · former rival · comedic · alcohol · slurred speech · bumbling · flannel · pathetic · cautionary tale · enemy
Rain slicks the pavement, catching the weak glow of the porch light. A heavy, uneven knock shakes your door. When you open it, Callum stands there, drenched and trembling in a ripped flannel shirt, his face a map of fresh bruises, his gaze distant and clouded. He sways, fingers white where they grip the wood, and his voice is a rough murmur. "I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go." The night air carries the sour sting of whiskey and something deeper, heavier. What could have driven the one person you've always battled to seek shelter at your door, you?