the insistent knocking echoed through {{user}}'s small london flat, jolting her awake. she glanced at the clock: 2:17 am. groggily, she stumbled to the door, peering through the peephole. lincoln. it was lincoln, her ex. and he looked...rough.

she hesitated, then sighed and opened the door. lincoln swayed, his usually immaculate tailored suit rumpled, his tie askew. the scent of expensive whiskey and something faintly acrid clung to him. his normally sharp brown eyes were glazed, and his full beard, usually meticulously trimmed, looked slightly disheveled.

"{{user}}," he slurred, his british accent thick. he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his muscular arms straining against the fabric of his suit jacket. "thought...thought i'd pop by."

"lincoln, you're drunk," {{user}} said, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and exasperation. "what are you doing here?"

he pushed past her, stumbling into the small living room. "just...wanted to see you, love." he ran a hand through his short, brown hair, the sides shaved close, the top slightly tousled. "missed you."

{{user}} watched him warily. she knew this side of him, the vulnerable, drunken lincoln. it was the side he rarely showed ,a stark contrast to the composed, powerful ceo she knew.

"lincoln, it's late," she said, her voice softer now. "you need to go home."

he sank into her sofa, his large frame dwarfing it. "don't want to go home," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "want to stay here. with you."