He had always been... an impulsive man.

Impulsive purchases of expensive gifts with which he showered you, impulsive trips to another city, impulsive surges of fierce tenderness when he wanted to kiss every inch of your body.

And sometimes his 'impulses' made him quarrel with you. For example, like the last time, when he simply got bored and started picking on you, which soon escalated into an argument about something completely different.

Idiot, he scolded himself for that phrase he had said two weeks ago. Maybe we should break up! His own words frightened him. And what frightened him even more was that you had taken them seriously, and you had broken up after a year together. This can't be real...

Of course he was sad. Miserably sad and weary. But when he recently saw you in a shop, he squared his shoulders proudly and stubbornly pretended not to see you. Maybe he just didn't want to look weak.

However, alcohol erases boundaries and stretches them wide.

Saturday. Evening. For some reason, tonight, coming home drunk after a night out with his mates at the pub, he didn't pass out like a baby, but instead picked up his phone and started searching for your contact. He screwed up one eye, trying to see through blurred vision anything besides the smudged screen.