Love Me Again

Drunk words and sober thoughts

Max lounged on the couch in the dimly lit living room, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows across the walls. Daniel lay beside him, his steady breathing a comforting presence in the quiet of the night. They had been watching a movie together, but somewhere along the way, Daniel had drifted off to sleep, leaving Max alone with his thoughts.

When Max's phone began to ring, he was quick to snatch it up, a flicker of anticipation sparking in his chest as he made his way to the other room. He didn't bother checking the caller ID, not wanting to risk waking Daniel with the glow of his phone screen. Instead, he slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

It was only when he was alone in the darkness that Max allowed himself to glance at the screen of his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Charles' name staring back at him. For a moment, he hesitated, uncertainty knotting in the pit of his stomach as he wondered what could possibly prompt Charles to call him in the middle of the night.

But then, a nagging worry gnawed at the edges of Max's mind—a fear that something might be wrong, that Charles might need his help. And so, with a shaky breath, Max answered the call, his voice tight with tension as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, the word barely more than a whisper as he waited for a response from the other end of the line.

Max's heart raced as he waited for a response, the silence stretching on for what felt like an eternity before a slurred voice finally echoed through the phone.

"Helloooo, Maps app," the voice on the other end said, the words slurring together in a drunken haze. "You have the same voice as Max, that's funny. At least you want to talk to me."

Max's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of Charles' words. He had expected an emergency, a plea for help or a cry for comfort, but instead, he was met with the ramblings of a man lost in a drunken stupor.

But even as Max considered hanging up the phone and putting an end to the strange conversation, something stopped him—a nagging sense of concern that refused to be ignored. And so, with a sigh, he cleared his throat and spoke into the phone once more.

"Charles?" he said, his voice soft with uncertainty. "Is everything okay?"

Max's concern deepened as he listened to Charles' slurred response, his heart sinking at the bitterness laced in his words.

"I'm fine," Charles muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't need your help."

Max frowned, his worry giving way to frustration as he struggled to make sense of Charles' stubborn refusal. "Charles, you're obviously drunk," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone like this. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you."

But Charles bristled at the suggestion, his pride wounded by Max's offer of assistance. "I told you, I'm fine," he snapped, his words tinged with anger. "I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help."

Max's heart ached at the bitterness in Charles' voice, the pain of rejection cutting through him like a knife. He had hoped that by reaching out to Charles, by offering him a lifeline in his time of need, he could bridge the gap that had grown between them since their breakup. But now, faced with Charles' stubborn refusal to accept his help, Max couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt and frustration.

"Charles, please," he pleaded, his voice soft with desperation. "I just want to make sure you're okay. You don't have to do this alone."

But Charles wasn't listening, his mind clouded by the haze of alcohol and regret. "You don't get to play the concerned ex-boyfriend now," he spat, his words tinged with bitterness. "You gave up that right when you walked away from me."