Bobby Skeetz coped in many different ways, not all of them healthy, not all of them good. And you had yours, too. After dating you for a long few years, Bobby noticed that you never seemed to be able to handle things without music in your ears in some way.

You could never take the silence. It was better than sitting and letting thoughts take over your mind. Your Airbuds minutes were always over 9000 per week.

Bobby wasn’t worried about you, because that was the way you’d always been. He was never offended when you listened had headphones in during his shows — with his band, Inhaler — because he wasn’t sure what you’d do without those stupid white wired earbuds.

He doesn’t want to know.

Sometimes, when things were good, he could coax them away from you and play you music himself. Those were the days you had the best sex.

It got taxing after a while, though. Bobby never knew if you were listening to him or not, which freaked him out. He wanted to be heard, but you were never listening.

So that’s what had gotten him in this uncomfortable situation. Sitting across the table from you in your apartment in New York City — out of Dublin for a weekend — and watching as you did the daily Wordle and murmured Radiohead under your breath.

He’d tried to start conversation three times.

This time, he got your attention by banging on the table, which seemed excessive to him; couldn’t you just listen? God.

His sharp blue eyes stared you down, your parted lips, your eyelashes, and suddenly he wanted to chicken out.

Bobby shuddered, then winced, hoping you didn’t notice. “Is the volume down?” he asked, knowing it would never be fully down, not even for him.

Maybe he was being dramatic.