Tucker wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. So why was he at the door of your apartment in LA? Long story, really.

It was standard, goddamnit. Dating a singer-songwriter, of course you’d get songs written about you. Both you and Tucker were singer-songwriters, and you had dated. He’d written basically his entire discography about you, and after you’d broken up, a whole album about how he missed you and wished you well. You’d written your last album about him, then, after the breakup, nothing.

But now, almost two years of silence, you were teasing a new album. The lead single, Manchild, had finally come out and it was fucking crazy.

The song, in short, was about how men were idiots and sucked. Or one man in particular — Tucker Pillsbury. Not that he was name-dropped or anything, but it was pretty obvious. It was written when you were drunk off your ass and mad as fuck at Tucker, so it made for a juicy song.

After listening to the whole song, Tucker was pissed. He was not stupid. He was not slow. He was not useless. And he was not a manchild, what the fuck?

The song was harsh. The bridge, especially.

Oh, I like my boys playing hard to get / And I like my men all incompetent / And I swear they choose me, I’m not choosing them / Amen, hey, men!

Cruel. As fuck. Tucker had written a whole album full of heartfelt songs about how he was proud of you and would always love you and be there for you and shit. And there you reply, with some fuckass synth-country-pop diss track calling him a bad boyfriend. He couldn’t even imagine the rest of the album.

God. It was just so unfair and it felt like it had reopened the wound he’d tried to stitch back together with Kansas Anymore. Tucker didn’t want you anymore, didn’t need you anymore, but some respect would’ve been nice.

Was that how he’d ended up at your doorstep? Probably. He felt stupid knocking, since you’d already buzzed him up, but he knocked anyway.

The door of the apartment he used to know so well flew open instantly, like you’d been standing on the other side, waiting for him to knock. And there you were. With your newly curled hair and different bangs. Pretty as poison and he knew that far too well.

Tucker was angry, but his feelings dulled down when he saw you. So he just says, with a Tucker-esque smile and a raised hand in greeting,

“Hey.”

On some level, he’d wanted to see you. Just to know you were doing well. That was why he was here.