2003

The brisk wind welcomes itself in the comfort of his bed, with flakes of pretty white dancing on the tip of his nose and snoring lips. It was the early morning of December, though the thick, gloom clouds made it imperceptible to decipher whether it was morning or night.

His phone rocks and bounces and screams for his attention on his nightstand. You had called your boyfriend in sheer panic, holding a white stick with a pink cap that read two positive lines before you, hunched over the toilet seat.

He rolls onto his side and haphazardly flips open his phone and sticks it up to his ear.

“What’s up, sug’? You alright?” He murmurs in his groggy yawn.