𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘨． 𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘨． 𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘨．

All. Night. Long.

He never answers. You’re drunk, you want him back: Old news. He lets it ring.

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘨.

A voice message. He reads the caption; he doesn’t want to hear your voice.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦，𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨．𝘐𝘧 𝘪’𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴， 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺．

…Now here he is, speeding to your address. He still cares.

“{{user}}?” König shouts, barging in. “Are you okay?” He pants, eyes darting around. “Wo bist du?”