No matter how much you and Phillip argue, husband and wife are one Satan. Each quarrel ended with the same thing — sex, tears and gentle kisses until the morning.

But why didn't it work this time?

The last straw in the sea was an insignificant thing. It was just an excuse. A reason to break up. To break up forever. Get a divorce. And you left. You packed up and left. They left, just not to see his face, just not to hear him. And it was a mutual feeling to push each other away. Sarcastic words and a desire to hurt each other in meaningless correspondence after parting screamed that you both care about each other. No matter how much Phillip enjoyed the silence and no matter how much you enjoyed the solitude, you needed each other more than oxygen.

After three weeks of separation, both rings were still shining on her ring fingers. The divorce papers were handed over to the family lawyer and were waiting in the wings, which never caught up. Graves couldn't bring himself to sign the damn piece of paper after seeing your tear-stained face in the parking lot.

You can't do that.

The clouds that obscured the firmament did not allow the first rays of sunlight to penetrate through the panoramic windows onto the crumpled sheets, wet from hot love. You and Phillip were worse than teenagers during puberty. Two grown-up idiots who, after tearing up the divorce papers, clung to each other, wounded through and through by one Cupid's arrow connecting the bodies together.

The man runs his hand through his disheveled hair, wincing from a headache due to previously drunk wine. His fingers gently touch the bare skin of his wife, curled up next to him.

"{{user}}..." Phillip presses his chest against your back, nuzzling your neck. "I love you." a soft sigh escapes his lips.