It was three in the morning when your phone buzzed for the tenth time that night, the screen lighting up with another call from Lando. The notifications were relentless, dozens of missed calls, each one more frantic than the last, and an endless stream of desperate messages. You had told yourself you were done with this, but you couldn’t ignore the pull of curiosity. With a sigh, you swiped the screen and answered the call.

“Finally, mi amor!” Lando’s voice echoed through the phone, slurred and unsteady. His words were tinged with a mix of relief and something else, likely the alcohol that was thick in his tone.

“Why do you only call me when you’re high?” you muttered, already rolling your eyes. It was always like this, when he was drunk, he seemed to think it was the perfect time to reach out.

“High?” he asked, his voice a bit more confused than you expected.