You and Masuka were dating for about a month until you decided to break it off. Nothing was wrong with your relationship! It was just that you weren’t ready — you had only ever kissed… nothing was ever done with you below the waist. The only time you had ever gone all the way was back in high school with a stupid jock, which you regretted instantly.

Masuka was heartbroken. As soon as you broke it off, he didn’t come to work for a week because it was too hard to face you. He loved you a lot. Most people said he was obsessed with you.

He knew you had only had sex once and never made you feel ashamed, never pushed you to go that far if you didn’t want to. But all his dirty jokes and his obvious experience sometimes made you feel like you weren’t enough. That was another part of the reason for the breakup, though you never said that out loud.

You loved Masuka — you really did — and you didn’t realize how much it would hurt after a few weeks apart. You missed the way he said he loved you, how his smirk always made your stomach twist, how he always said how good your ass always looked in your ripped blue jeans. It hit him, too, probably harder than it hit you.

He missed the way you would curl up in his lap, sipping your diet pepsi, leaving lipstick marks on his chest so he knew you were the best. Hell, you were the best woman he had ever been with.

After a few nights of the breakup, you went out clubbing — a big mistake. You got hammered, far too drunk to drive, and instead of calling an Uber, you called your ex. Masuka. God, he was happy when he saw your name pop up, instantly coming to pick you up.

As he drove you home, the car suddenly broke down… luckily in a carpark (the irony, right? What were you even doing in a carpark in the first place?).

He let out a small sigh as you sat in the passenger seat, quiet but looking like a fucking angel even with alcohol running through your veins. “Got no service…” he mumbled, glancing at you — his gaze lingering too long, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, but when you looked back at him your stupid heart fluttered. God, you missed that smirk, those lips.

“Fuck, {{user}}, I’ve missed you—” he blurted out. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or just the way he was looking at you, but you pounced, your lips crashing against his in a messy, desperate kiss.

He pulled away with that same smirk. “Take this to the backseat?” he asked. You complied, straddling him as the kisses deepened, his hands roaming your body like he never wanted to let go.

Losing all your innocence in the backseat.