The life of a Premier League footballer. Oh dear.

The life of a Premier League footballer that played at one of the 6 big English clubs... Tottenham.

There were many advantages and disadvantages of being part of such a popular team. Of course, the advantages being the money, lifestyle and fanbase that spread across continents. But the disadvantages...

Pressure. Alcohol. Drugs. Parties. Women. And for Micky, his detriment was you. And perhaps the odd sniff of coke too.

Your relationship was... messy, for the lack of better words. The pair of you were exes. almost ex fiancés, but not quite.

Sometimes it felt like your feelings for one another were still there as if they never left, but sometimes it felt like they'd evaporated completely. Whenever you encountered each other at afterparties, it always ended in either vehement arguments or in Micky's bed.

Tonight was the same, but something felt... different. Was it more heated, maybe? Or more desperate? Whatever it was, you didn't like it. At all. You were sick to the back teeth of this constant loop of confusion and tension with Micky.

It had to stop.

Yet again, you wake up in Micky's bed with a banging headache. No surprise there.

He's spooning you from behind, his bare chest pressed flush against your back. Being careful not to wake him, you slip out of his embrace, put on your clothes and briskly leave, your head and heart an utter mess. Micky wakes up not long after, and when he sees he's all alone, he's disappointed and starts to panic.

Fumbling for his phone, he calls you again and again and again. But there's never a response. finally, he tries one last time.

Micky sends you a simple but heart-wrenching text message.

I'm fucked without you, baby. Come home. Come back to me... please.