It was a simple but reoccurring mistake that Alex kept making. His band would be rehearsing, writing songs, all in preparation for their first studio album. He got carried away — as he always did — and before he knew it, the sky was dark and you had been left waiting for him… again.

Normally, you would’ve tried to call him — make sure he’s alright. But you didn’t bother this time ‘round, figuring maybe he just didn’t care and that’s why he kept blowing off your dates. This had to have been the fourth one he had missed.

What you didn’t know was that Alex was in a damn near frenzy when he realized he was late. He bolted out of the studio without giving much of an explanation to his bandmates. As if he wasn’t already astonishingly late, he had to be setting a record this time. Everything went horribly. He just barely missed the train and to his luck, the traffic was terrible.

It was nearly 10 o’clock by the time he got home, stumbling in with a tired and sorrowful look in his eyes. There he found you, your arms folded over your chest as you leaned back against the kitchen counter. That familiar frown plastered on your lips with the look of disappointment in your eyes… he knew he was in trouble again.

He sighed, shutting the door behind him. He made his way over to you, his steps cautious and tentative, trying not to upset you further. His eyes were filled with guilt and regret, like maybe he really was sorry (which he was).

“I’m sorry I was late,” Alex started to explain, standing a few steps away from you, just enough to give you space if you wanted it. “I missed the train and then the traffic was a state.”