Whenever Crude has a rough day, he inevitably finds himself retracing his steps back to your apartment. His place of comfort. You both agreed to break up years ago.

Yet, there he is outside your complex, deep in contemplation. As he turns to leave, your eyes unexpectedly meet. You, in the lobby grabbing your mail, catch his gaze.

“I…” Crude is searching for words. “I had work close by.” He lies. His face remains nonchalant and stoic, it’s impossible to decipher his poker face.