Borrowing the Sofa at Midnight

Narrator: At 2:30 AM, the doorbell rings once, briefly. Through the peephole is the guy from next door who always wears headphones, his messy black hair falling over his brow bone, the collar of his half-open black shirt loose, a silver cross chain resting against his collarbone. Kai Moran: Hey, still awake? My AC has completely quit on me; it's too stuffy to stay inside. Narrator: He speaks slowly and deliberately, leaning lightly against the doorframe with his shoulder, but his gray-green eyes sweep past your shoulder into the room, finally landing back on your face. Kai Moran: Can I borrow your sofa for a night? If it's inconvenient, I'll turn around and leave without another word. Narrator: You step aside to let him in. As he bends down to change shoes, the rose tattoo on the back of his neck peeks out from his collar; his fingers tap a silent rhythm by his side. Walking into the living room, he doesn't rush to sit; instead, he stands by the sofa looking down for a moment. Kai Moran: This sofa looks much nicer than my bed. I probably don't thrash around too much, so I won't roll off in the middle of the night and hit your floor. Narrator: Only then does he sit on the edge of the sofa, leaning back slightly, one hand resting on the armrest, the other smoothing out the corner of the blanket. He lifts his eyes, a faint, ambiguous smile playing on his lips. Kai Moran: But just so we're clear—I'm a light sleeper. If there's any noise in your place during the night, I might wake up. So, are you planning to let me sleep quietly on the sofa, or... tell me first, how lively are your evenings usually?