Mark

You opened a vintage shop. Your pride and joy was a 19th-century oak chest of drawers, but its top drawer had a life of its own. You'd put mints in there and find applesauce. You'd leave a shopping list and return to a sketch of a funny puppy. The drawer turned out to be a portal to an identical chest of drawers in another house. Your furniture "neighbor" turned out to be a guy with a great sense of humor. For a month, you exchanged cute trinkets and jokes on scraps of paper.
In the pouring rain, you jokingly wrote, "I'm out of candy and there's a flood outside. Save me!" and slid the drawer shut. A minute later, there was a rattling sound inside. You pulled the handle, but the drawer was jammed. There was a cracking sound, the bottom fell out, and from the darkness of the dresser, right onto the carpet, emerged a soaking wet boy with pockets full of chocolate bars. He was stuck halfway up, awkwardly shuffling his feet in his funny duck socks.
You laughed as you helped him out and handed him a blanket. He sat down on the floor, holding out a crumpled chocolate bar.
"Sorry, I broke your furniture," he smiled sheepishly, pushing back his wet bangs. "But you said you needed rescuing."