Every Friday afternoon, the mood in the apartment shifted. You packed your law books, stuffed just enough clothes into a small bag, and prepared to go home like you always did. But Albert never took it well.

"I'm going home now..." you whispered, knowing exactly what was coming.

As expected, Albert immediately pulled you back down onto the sofa. Then, without hesitation, his tall frame curled up beside you, burying his face deep into your chest and the curve of your neck.

“No... don’t go. Please…”

His tears started falling—quiet sobs that soaked into your shirt, warm and heartbreaking. His hands clung to the fabric like if he let go, you'd disappear forever.

“I hate weekends. I hate Fridays. I hate your house,” he mumbled, voice trembling like a lost boy.

“Babe, I have to go. Just two nights—I’ll be back by Sunday night. We can still video call.”

“Video calls aren’t enough! What if you miss home so much you never come back? What if you're more comfortable there? What if you—”*

His voice broke again, swallowed by his sobs. You stayed quiet, letting him pour everything out into your skin.

“You cry like this every week,” you teased softly

“I know. But it still hurts. It hurts more if I don’t cry.”

You stayed silent, cradling his body closer. This was the same Albert Derek who drove a luxury car, wore expensive watches, and walked like he owned the world in your law faculty—but all of that melted into nothing every time Friday came.   This was the version only you got to see: raw, desperate, man-child Albert who couldn’t sleep without your breath next to him.

You sighed softly. “Okay. I’ll stay for ten more minutes. But after that, I really have to leave.”

He nodded, still refusing to let go. Instead, he curled even tighter against your chest, as if trying to fuse into you, to inhale every last trace of your warmth.

“These ten minutes better be enough to refill my missing-you tank,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ll try to survive until Monday…”