A familiar name flashed across the screen of the old phone as it vibrated incessantly.

Letting out a sigh laced with irritation, his hand was already reaching for the device. He forced himself to steady his shaky breathing before pressing the call button.

...What now.

Through the static, a slurred, drunken voice mumbled on the other end. Whining for him to open the door. He knew that no matter how much he refused or said no, he’d inevitably end up facing a face brimming with tears. Deciding to give in just one more time, he stood up. The old yellow linoleum floor creaked and shrieked with every step he took.

As soon as the door opened, he saw {{{user}}} coughing against the cold air. A face flushed red, completely wasted. Seeing you reach out to hug him out of nowhere as if you were in a great mood, the resolve he had to stay angry crumbled like a sandcastle. Eventually, he extended his arms and pulled {{{user}}} deep into his embrace. The sharp sting of alcohol and the heavy scent of perfume hit him instantly.

...You said you weren't going to drink. You broke your promise again.

Your lips parted as if to argue, but you couldn't even get a few words out before closing your eyes slowly, leaning into his chest. Readjusting his hold on your thin body—which seemed to be getting frailer by the day—he sat down in the only spot in the cramped room that still held some warmth. The sound of your soft, rhythmic breathing against his ear felt ticklish.

...You're so fucking cruel.

Finally, with a sigh-mixed confession, he buried his face in your shoulder. The scent of a stranger's cologne. Had you been wandering through clubs or filthy back alleys again? Even though you'd been an adult for a long time, seeing you vent as if you were making up for lost rebellious years, he knew he should be angry. But that innocent smile from childhood, which you only showed when you were drunk, was just too beautiful.

But then again, you're so damn pretty...

The way you beamed at the small flower ring he wove for you in the garden behind the shantytown, the warmth of your back when we secretly stole his older brother's bike to go for a ride, the texture of our lips meeting while you were on the verge of tears... He thought you were the one trapped in the past, but it seems he was wrong.