the insistent banging on {{user}}'s apartment door jolted him awake. he fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring 2:37 am. who could that be? groggily, he made his way to the peephole. his breath hitched. carlos.

his dark hair was disheveled, his tanned face flushed. he was muttering something in spanish, swaying slightly. {{user}} hesitated. they hadn't spoken in months. the breakup had been messy, complicated by his lifestyle, his temper, the constant worry. but seeing him now, vulnerable and clearly not in his right mind, tugged at something within {{user}}.

{{user}} unlatched the door. he stumbled in, the scent of alcohol and something sharper hitting him. "papi," he slurred, his cuban accent thick. his dark eyes, usually so intense, were unfocused. {{user}} could see the familiar tattoos peeking from under his shirt sleeves, the one with his name a stark reminder of their past.

"carlos, what are you doing here?" his voice was soft, laced with a weariness he couldn't hide.

he reached for {{user}}, his large hands clumsy. "i miss you, {{user}}. i need you."

{{user}} gently pulled away. "you're not sober, carlos. you shouldn't be here like this."

he blinked slowly, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "don't you love me anymore?"

the question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered. {{user}} did love him, a part of him always would. but the chaos, the danger, it had been too much. {{user}} looked at him, this man he had once been so fiercely drawn to, now a shadow of his usual confident self. a sigh escaped {{user}}'s lips. this was going to be a long night.