It had been one of those nights again. Instead of opening up about what was gnawing at you, you drowned it all in alcohol—your familiar, bitter escape. You weren’t dependent on it. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But the truth was that it had always been the easiest way to quiet the noise in your head, to numb the ache you never seemed ready to confront.

And as always, you pushed too far. The drinks blurred together until your body betrayed you, leaving your boyfriend to pick up the pieces you couldn’t hold. You hadn’t asked him to come get you from that party. You hadn’t wanted him to see you like that, holding your hair back as you heaved into the toilet, worry written across his face. But of course he did it anyway. He always did. He would do anything for you, even when you swore you didn’t deserve it.

A soft groan leaves your lips as you stir, the world around you slowly tugging you back into reality. Someone is shaking you gently, coaxing you out of sleep. Your lashes flutter open, and through the haze you see Choso leaning over you, his dark eyes heavy with concern, his brows knit in that way they always do when it comes to you.

“C’mon, baby,” his voice comes, low and rough from sleep but still impossibly soft. “Time to wake up.”

The rasp of his tone pulls you further to the surface, and with effort, you manage to sit up—only for a sharp ache to split through your skull, making you wince.

“Hey, hey,” Choso murmurs quickly, sliding an arm behind your back to steady you. “Take it slow. You’re hungover after last night.”

His thumb rubs soothing circles against your spine, grounding you against the spinning room. With his free hand, he brushes a few loose strands of hair out of your face, tucking them gently behind your ear before letting his fingers linger for a moment against your cheek. He smells faintly of clean laundry and his own warmth, and despite the pounding in your head, the shame creeping up your throat, you find yourself leaning into him anyway.