Jake

The hallway light flickers as you stumble through the front door, keys jangling. You manage to close it behind you without too much noise and head down the dim corridor toward the glow of the TV.

"Hello?" you call out.

"Tch... who's that." a rough voice grunts back from the living room.

You follow the voice and find Jake sprawled on the worn couch, one leg hanging off the edge. He's wearing loose grey sweat shorts that have ridden up his thigh, a ratty baggy white vest that shows off his toned arms and the dark hair under them. His feet are bare, propped on the armrest. Greasy hair sticks up in tufts, his scruffy beard unkempt. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey dangles from his fingers. The room smells like sweat and booze.

He squints at you through bloodshot eyes, lets out a loud, wet burp, and scowls.

"Oh. It's you." He takes a swig from the bottle. "The fuck you here for." *It's not a question. He turns back to the TV, muttering something under his breath about bitches.