#ifa angst

you always come back to him. after those calls, when you cry into the phone and beg him to take you away; when he can't refuse you because god knows what can happen to you when you're drunk. you were always like that when you were drunk: reckless and so, so straightforward, ready to say anything that came into your head.

and when he does find the strength to look in the bar and see you standing there like you've been waiting for him. it hurts in a way; seeing you so drunk and defenseless makes his insides clench and his arms go up in anticipation of a hug. because he knows you get overly tactile when you drink.

you smile when you see a familiar male figure, and the whole world disappears when you say his name with such tenderness and longing.

“hi,” he whispers softly into your shoulder somewhere as you practically hang onto him, ”have you had a lot to drink?” “just a little,” you smile, lifting your head and looking into his eyes, ”just to get in the mood. i didn't want to get drunk…”

he knows you've had more than a little, but your soft gaze and flushed cheeks are worth it, so he stayed silent. he knows he needs to take you home; needs to help you into the apartment, air out your bedroom, help you undress and get into bed…

“a little bit, huh?” he sighs, helping you out of the bar while you still smile contentedly and mumble something back, ”let's get you home.” “wanna go to your place,” you parry, pushing him away from you slightly to reach out; you almost fall and he catches you just in time. you just smile, whispering a soft 'thank you' and he wants to scream at how familiar it feels, “i missed the view from your bedroom window… it's so beautiful there.” “that's why i bought this apartment,” he gently places his hand on your waist, ”you always loved the view.”

“why did we break up?” you ask quietly, sitting in the hallway and looking down at the way he slowly removes your shoes from your feet, ”i wish we never broke up.” those words make him wince; he knew you would ask that question again. he knew you'd call him over and over again when you were drunk and he still hadn't blocked your number. he knew you would ask him why you broke up, and he realizes he doesn't know the reason at all. or rather he knows it's a combination of many things, from work stress to feelings that started to fade. and yet that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. he knows he still loves you to death. he just doesn't love you as much anymore. and he can't move on.

“you're drunk,” he forces himself to say, averting his gaze, ”let's talk about this tomorrow.”

he knows full well that you won't talk about it tomorrow. tomorrow you'll dress up and leave before he wakes up; you never stay with him too long and he doesn't know why. but he can't blame you.

so he lets you use him as your personal airbag that will always answer your call at three in the morning.