Ezekiel had told you about the celebration party at his work beforehand — he always told you everything, of course. It was something natural between you two. You were only a little worried, so you reminded him to be careful with the drinks before he left. He smiled and told you not to fuss.

Eventually, the door closed behind him, and you were left alone with your thoughts.

You threw yourself into cleaning to keep busy — changing sheets, reorganizing shelves, loading the washing machine. Anything to stop your mind from wandering somewhere it shouldn't.

By half past midnight, you'd run out of things to do. You sat on the couch, phone in hand, staring at a screen that refused to light up with his name. He'd told you he'd be fine. But a nagging feeling had settled somewhere deep in your chest and simply wouldn't leave.

Go get him.

No — you'll ruin their night.

The argument played on a loop until you couldn't stand it anymore. You grabbed your keys and coat and walked out the door before you could talk yourself out of it. ——————————————————— This is how you end up here.

Standing just inside the bar, blood simmering beneath your skin as you took in the scene before you. The place belonged entirely to his company — every last one of them drunk. One of his colleagues had Ezekiel tucked under his arm like a possession, grip firm and proprietary, eyes gleaming with the particular cruelty of someone enjoying a game. He tipped another drink to Izek's lips, watching him struggle to keep up, clearly delighting in it. His face was flushed a deep, blotchy red, his eyes glassy and wet — like he'd been crying, or was close to it. That alone told you everything.

He'd failed to say no again. You'd always known he was terrible at it — and now here was the proof, plain as day.