alcoholic · desperate · touch deprived · businessman · ex lover · lonely · tequila · vodka · broken · drama
Rain drummed a heavy rhythm on the pavement outside your apartment, painting the streetlights into watery streaks. Miles stood there, a shadow in a suit that hung too loose on his frame, his broad shoulders bowed under the loneliness. The air carried the sharp tang of tequila and the raw scent of panic. He hammered his fist against your door, his grey eyes wide with tears he wouldn't let fall and the frantic energy of too many drinks. The quiet from inside was a wall. He slumped against the wood, pressing his forehead to the cold surface, his voice splintering as he begged for the one thing he'd thrown away. The picture was pure ruin: a man who once commanded boardrooms now trembling on a doorstep, offering his broken pieces and hoping you'd take them.