'Drink?'

Half expecting no answer anyway, he begins to pour wine from the bottle between his trembling fingers.

Red. That red. Their red.

A splash of liquid surfs the rim and trickles on the counter below: once grey, it has been decorated with a week's worth of crumbs and grime. Deviating from her meticulous nature is most unlike her. Alicia was always cleaning and tickling round his flat with a feather duster when they were together, even though he told her to put her feet up, often accompanying it with a silly song. Despite being spectacularly tone deaf, she was happiest making sure everything was just right and tidy. Now she is hunched up on the sofa before him and things have never been more wrong.

'You remembered,' she says flatly, snatching it out his hand and pressing it to her lips.

'I never forgot anything.' Ethan moves a cushion off the sofa and ten inches from her.

Her expression is mixture of sorrow and understanding. Guilt washes through his veins at the sight of her so destroyed.

He takes a large gulp of the wine and doesn't wince when it burns the roof of his mouth. A temporary sting is incomparable with her turmoil: he knows he would take her pain ten times over just to see her smile again.

Alcohol needs to strengthen him and shut out the whining, nagging narrative on a loop in his head like a stuck record: you left her and she needed you and you. left. her. But, in the absence of sobriety, he can handle everything just a little more smoothly. He drinks some more.

Tears well and glisten in the depths of her sunken eyes.

Numbly, he observes the rain lashing against the roof. A pause. Thunder rumbles loudly. It wouldn't be appropriate to pass comment on the weather or any other triviality after what she had been through. Clearly she wasn't open to conversation anyway, and he couldn't be certain she'd even forgiven him for leaving. That she even wanted to chat.

'Not exactly June weather.'

'Certainly not,' he agrees quickly. 'It wasn't in the forecast.'

'Life is full of surprises,' she replies.

Ethan recalls he has had less awkward conversations with the neighbour about the faulty heating in the building, or the workers about the condom stuck to the dustbin lid. Even making stilted small talk to the unfortunate passenger enduring the smell of his egg mayo meal deal was easier than trying to talk to her. They aren't strangers, yet it feels they might as well be.

'What did you do today?' he asks.

Ten seconds pass and he fails to work out whether she is consciously ignoring him, or simply just hasn't heard.

'Alicia—'

'What? S-sorry, did you speak?'

His expression softens. 'What did you do today?'

'I, uh, I watched some TV and made a meal.'

'Something vegan?'

'Unfortunately I have a penchant for halloumi and mozzarella and no will power, so...'

They both chuckle a little too loudly.

'Just pesto pasta, nothing too fancy. I put some in Tupperware in the fridge if you're hungry.'

'I've just eaten on the way back from work. But- I'm sure it tastes great.' He nods enthusiastically.

She raises an eyebrow at him. 'It's alright, yeah. It's only pasta.'

'You are good at cooking though.'

'You used to accuse me of poisoning your lunches when I used to make them.'

'I meant it in jest because you never left out the tomatoes.'

She drains the wine. 'Well, whatever. I'm no Mary Berry.'

They fall silent again and he kicks himself for his wooden responses, peppered with compliments and flattery. As if she wasn't going to see through it and recognise the pity. The rain hits the glass windows harder. Tension is palpable and both of them know the other well enough to imagine his burning questions about what actually happened.

Being a man of depth, Ethan hates all things superficial and meaningless. He couldn't care less about her food choices — he wants to dig for the stories she hasn't yet told. There is a distinct sense of responsibility too. He knows he has wronged and wants to compensate for his absence, wants to fix it all with a determination almost childlike.

She casts the empty glass aside and locks eyes with him bravely. 'If I knew where to begin, I promise I would.'

'You're not under any pressure,' he replies evenly.

Alicia wipes her eyes furiously. 'It's going to change everything so much.'

'You can work through anything. I will support you. I got your call tonight and now I am here. All I know is that you were going to tell me last week and then whatever it is has become unmanageable. Tell me. A problem shared is a problem halved.'

'But you won't know what to do,' she says thickly, weakly.

He pales slightly. 'Try me.'

After a long hesitation, she rummages beneath her for phone and clasps it in both hands, concealing the screen.

'What is it, Alicia? You're worrying me!'

'Just say you won't leave.'

Exasperated, he leans forward and peels her fingers off the device in a thoughtless, panicky movement. She begins to sob hysterically, head in hands.

His thumb scrolls wildly and punches in the number combination he could recall in his sleep. None of the words are making sense and are merely more than jumbled letters on a screen. Another swipe and he pulls up the search history. He tells himself he's jumped to conclusions. He would have known. Nothing like that could ever happen to her, not—

Her breath comes in hiccups as her lungs rummage for oxygen, eyes red raw, skin blotchy, hair scraped back and bedraggled, bitten nails of the fingers desperately clamping her lips shut to prevent more noise escaping.

His mouth dries and he has forgotten how to breathe.