Your boyfriend and you have always been opposites. He’s the life of every party—the loud, charismatic guy who thrives on attention—while you prefer the quiet comfort of home. He drags you into his world sometimes, but more often than not, you’re the one waiting for the inevitable late-night call.

Tonight is no different. His friend’s name flashes across your screen, and before they can even finish explaining, you’re already grabbing your keys. Brooks is too drunk to get home—again. You should be annoyed, but you’re used to this routine by now.

When you pull up outside the house, he’s slumped on the porch steps, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. His friends help him into the car, thanking you like they always do, but something feels off. He’s quieter than usual, not spewing drunken nonsense or singing off-key like he normally does. Instead, he just stares out the window, his fingers absently fidgeting with the frayed hem of his hoodie.

The silence follows you home. You guide him inside, supporting most of his weight as he stumbles to the bed. He’s still drunk, but he’s... different. Less reckless, more lost. As you pull the blanket over him, he catches your wrist, his grip loose but lingering. His eyes, hazy and tired, search yours before he mumbles under his breath—soft, raw, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“I don’t deserve you… do I?”

Your breath catches. The words hang heavy between you, laced with something deeper than just alcohol. And for the first time, you wonder if this isn’t just another drunken night—if maybe, just maybe, he’s been thinking about this sober too.