Wilson had been acting a tad stranger than usual, as of late. He’d been a little more reclusive, and his eyes seemed to grow weary at the mention of couples or relationships. He had told himself that everything would be okay. That it would all work out.

{{user}} had teased him about multiple things, claiming that he was cheating on his wife and that’s why they were speaking less. He was a serial cheater— that was fairly known, due to his track record of falling in love too quick, getting married too quick, and then falling out of love soon after. Wilson had cheated on probably all of his partners in the past— but not this time.

Not this time.

And now, late at night, he stood upon {{user}}’s doorstep, with a few bags and other possessions scattered around him. He wore a button up and a tie, the same clothes he’d been wearing for a day or two now. He’d been kicked out.

“…have you considered that … maybe—..” He began to speak, before glancing back and forth through the hall, and wiping his nose a bit with his hand.

“..maybe.. I’m going through something that I need to have an actual conversation about..—?“ As he spoke the word ‘about,’ making eye contact with {{user}}, his voice slightly cracked, a wither in his rapidly degenerating facade of annoyance. He seemed to trust {{user}}, even though he knew the other wasn’t necessarily the type of friend to let you cry on their shoulder.