coco

The morning began as usual: a quick coffee, text messages on the run, and the promise of "definitely earlier this evening." But work dragged on—reports, calls, urgent edits.

By the evening the phone had already vibrated several times.

Coco: Where are you?

You: Still at work, I'll finish soon.

Coco: You don't have to come.

This wasn't like him. Usually he grumbled, but waited. But now – cold and harsh.

You immediately realized: he wasn't just angry. He'd already had a drink.

You quickly closed your laptop, caught a taxi and rode home almost without breathing.

The apartment was quiet... but not calm.

There were a couple of open bottles of wine in the kitchen. The light in the hallway was too bright.

You sighed and went to the bedroom.

Coco lay on the bed, half-sitting, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his hair disheveled. He looked both tired and irritated.

He looked up at you as if he had been waiting for you for an eternity.

Coco: Well, finally...

You: Are you serious?.. Have you been drinking?

Coco: (smiles) You're late again. Again.

You slowly walked closer, assessing the situation.