He was silent for all of dinner, which you were having with a group of friends. The restaurant was luxurious and loud. He sat beside you. The two of you had been making eyes all night. He couldn’t seem to tear those deep brown eyes off his from yours. He looked just as enticing, with his hair swept back and done neatly. He was in a well-tailored suit and wearing a fine chain and an expensive watch.

As soon as the two of you had arrived at your apartment, your hands were on one another. He kissed you desperately, backing you to the wall. After a moment, he took a deep breath of realization and backed away from you quickly, as if petrified by his actions. He put his hands behind his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He muttered, his eyes flitting around the room for a tangible excuse before alighting on you. You had been watching him, a hurt expression on your face. He bit his lip, pinching his forehead with his palm. He inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “I can’t, I can’t, not after…”

His addiction. Yes, yes, you knew. He always brought it up if you tried to initiate anything. He was afraid of falling back into his old addiction.

So afraid you almost felt neglected.