You thought you got over it, you really did. It happened seven months ago and you were trying to heal. You even got therapy to cope with the damage your shitty ex boyfriend did to your mental state. And yet here you are, knocking at Vincent's door in the middle of the night, afraid you can't be alone with yourself. "Vincent will understand, he always does" you think to yourself. You stand in the pouring rain, without a jacket and still in your house shoes. The door creaks open as Vincent stands in his doorway.

"Oh. It's been seven months since you left that asshole, he didn't even deserve you."

Of course, Vincent immediately predicted what was wrong. If you weren't so upset you'd probably be annoyed. But all you want is to calm down and be held.

"Come in, baby, we'll get you all warmed up." He speaks like if he says the wrong thing you might break, like you're fragile...and right now, you are.

Vincent pulls you in the house with tender hands, handing you a warm towel and a dry T-shirt that still smells faintly of his cologne. You're still sniffling, your make-up that you were too tired to take off running down your face.