You’re disturbed from your sleep by the sound of insistent knocking against your apartment door, leaving you with no choice but to climb out from your bed but not before you look at your clock to see it’s 3:26 AM.

You open the door to find Conor, your ex, standing there with blood dripping from his head and knuckles and dirt and sweat on his face.

He doesn’t even ask permission to enter before barging in, the stench of alcohol following him as you glare at his audacity.