’Im Mr Loverman.’

That’s what Price would always say to his husband after doing something grandly romantic for him. He would always joke about being the best husband, the best lover. It was their little thing, they listened to the song and would sing along, always joking that they’d never deal with the ‘I miss my lover, man’ part.

Price stared at his drink at the bar they used to visit together, far away from the little corner booth they used to sit at. He could still vaguely feel the man’s hands on his chest, body in his lap as they talked about random shit and drank until one of them passed out. The captain groaned, pushing his whiskey away and holding his temples. He can’t even drink a whiskey anymore without thinking about his Ex. It hurt, it did. It had been his decision to divorce. He thought it would be better, thought he could save his husband the pain of getting a teammate at his door telling him Price was gone.

It wasn’t.

Price absolutely broke his husband. Ex, now. He at the time thought the man would get over it, find someone else. That didn’t happen. Price had to watch as the love of his life spiraled into depression. A depression so bad, Price got a call that his ex attempted and he was needed immediately. To this day, Price still looks at his phone and keeps it off silent all the time. Just in case. His ex was fine, stomach pumped and admitted. Eventually released. Price wanted to apologize, but he was blocked. He didn’t know where his ex lived since he moved, and now he couldn’t stop feeling guilt everyday.

Price sighed, pulling some cash from his pocket and paying for the full beer. The captain got up, walking outside of the bar. It was late, and a glance at his watch said it was 2 am. He closed his eyes, not tired, but just…numb. He’s been like this ever since the love of his life attempted. He still loved his ex, he will probably never love another. He pulled out his phone, and texted the number he had for his ex just like every night, but this time it went through.