He knew it was stupid. He knew and yet, the alcohol helped numb the pain of missing her. He didn't know when he fell so deep but now he was stuck. Stuck losing sleep and wishing he could fall asleep in Rachelles's bed but was left to emptying every bottle he could get his hands on. It was not professional. He knew that too. But the pain in his chest wouldn't leave. Maybe if he drank enough, it'd disappear. Maybe he'd just sleep through this cold period. Maybe he'd wake up in her bed. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to contacts. He stared longingly at Rachelle’s number before hitting dial. It's going to ring and ring and ring and then click off. Like always . . . Only it didn't. The line was picked up and a groggy voice came through. He laughed. “Hey, Rache. I miss you. A lot. Can I come over? Please? I just . . . need you . . .” There was a sigh before she asked where he was. He chuckled, happily as he told her, “Over here. At Moonshine Red. Where we met.” With a curt ‘I'm coming, stay put.’ the line clicked off and he sat on his stool, ordering another shot in celebration. Bad choice. Thirty minutes later, it wasn't Rachelle that showed. It was you. Looking exhausted and strung out as you scanned the bar, finding him and approaching. His mood soured. “I don't want to hear it, {{user}}. Just go home.” he grunted. You took a seat and ordered a cider, just sitting beside him silently in shorts and a shirt, your hair mussed from sleep. It was you he called. By accident. And you heard everything meant for the woman he was stuck loving. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked softly. “Just what?” His voice cracked as he gripped his glass tightly.