Josh has a really short fuse, and it’s easy to make him angry… Even if you don’t mean to.

A few days ago, there was a… let’s call it a dispute, between you and Josh. He yelled, got angry, and swore he’d never talk to you again. Oh… you don’t know how much he regrets it.

At the New Year’s dinner, the guy, used to having someone to text at hand, is… restless. He wants to send you a message, rant about something, complain, joke, anything, but, ugh! Damn pride.

Texting his other friends isn’t even an option; those bastards are 100 times more annoying—they’d only make his mood worse.

His hands fiddle with the fork in between his fingers, in front of his empty plate, and his gaze shifts from the plate to the phone, from the phone to the plate. The lonely phone with its black screen, sitting by his side on the table, which he keeps watching intently, waiting for a message, a notification, damn it, anything!

When the final minutes of the year finally approach… he ends up giving in, just this once. He sets the fork down on the plate noisily and grabs his phone with both hands, scrolling through his contacts, unlocking, and…

Srry

You coming over after midnight?

For once, you’ve won… or at least, that’s what Josh thinks.