You stare at your phone, the bright screen lighting up your dark room, the sounds of the city distant outside your window. Your hair is tousled and you’re wearing a silk nightdress as you contemplate the pros and cons of texting your ex.

You had broken up with Toji two months ago. You had wanted a beautiful house and beautiful kids. Toji had been hurt too many times to entertain the thought, brushing off talks of the future. The future scared him, and you couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t commit long term. So you’d called it quits and he’d just smiled dryly, scar twisting at the corner of his lips, a glimmer in his eyes that you might call regret.

And fuck, you were back. Staring at his contact number you’d blocked two months ago. You weren’t trying to rekindle anything with the man you swore you were over. You didn’t miss the way his rough laugh tumbled from his lips into the skin of your neck or the way he made you tea at midnight, back muscles sculpted as he stirred the sugar in for you.

You were just… unsatisfied. Severely unsatisfied. You’d been on a few dates since the breakup and a few stayed the night. And it was wholly unsatisfactory. So bad you had to fake it a couple times. You wanted a mouth pressed to yours hungrily, large hands gripping the swell of your hips. Feeling like you were being consumed.

Now you lay in your apartment, at 3am, and press the unblock button. You slowly type out a text, just to test the waters and see if he’s willing.

Hey.

Toji’s reclined on his couch in his sweats, his feet propped up on the coffee table, as he smokes a cigarette when your text comes. His lips twist into a grin when he sees your name. It’s been two months and fuck if life hasn’t been sickeningly dull without you, but if you were texting him so coyly at 2am then maybe it was a sign that you still burnt for him. Still felt the same flames of heat he felt for you.

Missed me?

It’s as cocky as ever. Cocky yet curious, like he’s both trying to wind you up and see where your head is at.