Breaking & Entering

When Alex is laying in his bed, it’s four in the morning and his cat is curled up at his side. He’s completely ready to pass out — he was up all night working on an essay that was due Tuesday, and even though he had all of Sunday, and all of Monday to do it, he wanted it done, damn it. He was college sophomore, and he had other things to do than write an essay. Might as well get it out of the way, right?

So he’d melted into his bed nearly the moment he got into it. Toph is cuddled into his side (he decided he’d like that name back in the eighth grade when he got the cat) and his pillows feel so soft against his face, and his blanket is just so warm, and he’s so comfortable in this bed that he feels like he’s melting, and…

Then there’s a noise and the sound of a window being busted that brings him out of his near sleepy state. He’s petrified, to say the least; he knows he lives in one of the neighborhoods that isn’t the absolute best, but it’s safe enough, and has been for the past six years. So why now? Why is he seriously getting broken into now?

Stupidly, he descends the stairs with nothing but a — get this — ammo-less airsoft gun that he’s had since high school (and even if it did have ammo, he’s not sure it would shoot, anyway). When he finds the living room, he’s totally set to see guys in ski masks with guns telling him to give them all his money.

What he did not plan to see, is a busted open front window, and…

A dark haired guy laying on his living room floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex mumbles, obviously irritated, and furrows his brows. He’s tired, he’s had a long day, and now there’s a (probably) drunk guy laying on his hard-wood floor and, oh, shit, it looks like he’s about to puke.

“Unbelievable,” Alex mutters, and goes to grab a bowl.

By the time he gets back, said drunk guy is laying passed out on his couch. Oh, and there’s a puke stain on the floor. Alex doesn’t really know what to do about the window right now — the break in it was only big enough so that the drunk guy could reach around and open his front door. So he does nothing, he goes up to bed, passes out with the knowledge that, yes, there is a total stranger in his house, and yes, he’ll call the police in the morning.

In the morning, Alex wakes up tired. He could sleep for three years and still wake up tired — it was a perpetual sort of thing. His bones ache and he momentarily forgets what he’s supposed to do, and then he remembers. With aforementioned airsoft gun in hand (just for the threatening appeal), he walks downstairs, and the drunk guy from last night is…

He’s fucking making him pancakes.

“Good morning,” he says with a smile. He turns his head and his face falls and oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. “What are you doing in Matt’s house? Did he get a boyfriend without telling me?” Now he’s turned around with his arms crossed and a spatula in hand, brows raised up. He’s smirking and he looks like he’s waiting for Alex to spill all the details.

Except there aren’t any details, and this is his house, and he doesn’t know anyone named Matt.

“Um, no,” Alex answers, and goes to set the airsoft gun down. “This is my house, I don’t know anyone named Matt. You kind of broke into my house at four in the morning last night, and now you’re making pancakes on my stove.”

“Oh my God,” says the raven haired taller one, and he turns around with both hands cupped over his mouth. “I thought — oh my fucking God, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You and my buddy Matt live in the same apartment complex — I was drunk last night — I thought — I’m sorry!” He mumbles, though there’s nervous laughter in his speech. “I’m Jack, by the way. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You must’ve been terrified.”

Okay, Jack seems friendly enough, Alex decides. Maybe he does know a Matt, or he thinks he does.

“The guy with the lip ring?” he decides to ask, and leans his hip against the doorway of the kitchen, and Jack turns back to his pancakes and hums, “mmhmm.”

Alex just watches him, brows furrowed. He sighs and mumbles, “you know, I should call the police on you. You broke my goddamn window, and then opened my door. And then, you puked on my floor. And then you slept on my couch, and now you’re making pancakes.” He’s got an accusing expression on his face and he’s tapping his foot impatiently. “I could sue you for destruction of property and breaking and entering.”

“Please don’t,” Jack sighs, and turns around, placing his hands on the counter, instead on the stove, because, well, the burners are on, and burners are hot. “I didn’t know. I’ll clean up the puke mess — I mean, unless you’ve already done that… but please don’t call the police.”

Alex knows he’s sincere, and Toph is rubbing up and down his legs. If the cat likes him, well…

“I said I should. I didn’t say I would. Jesus, calm down,” Alex mumbles, a soft laugh mixing into his words, “but I do want you to pay me back for the window, you know.”

Jack nods, because that’s reasonable, and he understands. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, your cat came down and cuddled with me last night, so,” he turns back around and tends to his pancakes some more. “Sorry for scaring you. I thought this was Matt’s apartment, man.”

“Understandable,” Alex comments, and walks over to his couch. Honestly, Jack seems pretty much harmless, so, he finds it pretty much okay to let his guard down. “It’s fine. You were just drunk. Stop apologizing,” he laughs, shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t get much sleep — what time was it when he got to bed? Nearly five? Maybe even past five? And what time was it now?

He took a glance over at the oven clock, and saw that it was eight in the morning, and let out a whimper in complete detest.

“I am going to take a nap, I don’t care if you stay or not. Please don’t kill me,” Gaskarth murmured tiredly and rolled over. He’s ready to melt into the cushions and cover up with a cozy throw blanket, and that’s what he does, so he doesn’t catch Jack’s reply, if there even was one. Was there? Alex couldn’t tell.

When he woke up around four in the afternoon, he felt pretty much completely rested up. However, there was an absence of Jack — and, for some reason, he felt dejected because Jack was actually super cute, and pretty polite, as far as drunk strangers goes. When he gets up and strolls into the kitchen, there’s a Happy Meal from McDonald’s, and a sticky note over the chicken nuggets box.

Hey, it’s Jack. You probably figured that anyway
I think you’re pretty cute and I’m sorry I broke into
your apartment. Call me sometime, though?
401-555-6579 :)

Never once in his life, did Alex think he’d be grateful to have his home broken into.