Fashionably Late

It was well past midnight when Atreus finally spilled through those heavy double doors, stumbling over the decorative rugs in the doorway as moonlight poured in at his back. Slowly, the doors closed behind him with a whine of golden hinges, leaving him in the dark, the thud reverberating through his skull. He swayed on his feet, grip loose around the stolen bottle of wine as he took one more sip. Red dribbled down his chin as the bottle slipped from his fingers, rolling across the floor and spilling its contents in its wake.

It was no matter to him what stained the floor, though, had he even noticed. Within mere seconds, his boots were kicked off to the side and he was tugging at his shirt, twisting and turning in his steps as he sloppily pulled at the uneven buttons. He shivered as cold air met his bare chest, eyes closing as he stretched his hands over his head, shirt slipping just enough to expose the marks on his collar.

But blindly reaching for the heavens did nothing but throw off his balance even more.
Which led to him bumping into a poorly placed side table.
Which led to the crashing of whatever fine china had been sitting upon it.

Atreus froze in his steps, willing his racing heart to steady as he turned his gaze to the shattered glass on the floor, squinting and blinking at the stars that swam in his vision. Oh, gods, how his eyes burned. How everything burned. The sweet release of alcohol had relieved him of some of the bite, but the teeth were still there, digging into his skin with each stiff, stumbling step.

He swayed as he pressed forward again, shuffling to reach for the wall to steady himself as he wiggled out of his pants. The first leg kicked free easily, the second one… not so much.

Down he went, hitting the ground with an oof, a sharp ache flooding through his chest as the air was knocked clean from his lungs. His breath hissed between his teeth as he kicked his foot free of the twisted pant leg, gasping for air as he rolled onto his back, resigning to sprawling across the hardwood in nothing but his open shirt, boxers, and halo of spilled curls. 

A soft sigh of relief wracked through his body as he relaxed into the cold floor, the chill easing his aches ever so slightly. His eyes started to flutter closed, crossing and blurring as he let the wine-fueled buzz prick at his conscience. He welcomed it all: the flutter in his stomach, the way the room spun, the ringing in his ears… Atreus draped an arm over his eyes, lastly welcoming the darkness, slowly starting to drift to sleep right there in the hallway while quietly humming under his breath.

And just as he was about to give in, he heard it.
Footsteps.

He grew silent with a single shaking breath, not bothering to remove his arm from over his eyes. He could only imagine what the scene looked like, and he could practically feel the temperature shift.
Oh, gods, he was in trouble.

"Yell at me tomorrow, would ya?" Atreus sighed, words slurring together in his drunken stupor. "I'm-" He flinched as he was interrupted by a hiccup. Terrible timing. "I'm... tired." What a lame excuse, but he didn't know what else to say, desperate to not chase away the few threads of sleep that still lingered.