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you feel it on your skin—that sticky, heavy haze flooding the dirty room. Outside, the neighborhood sleeps, but here, amidst crumpled sheets and empty glasses, time has frozen. As David approaches, he smells of whiskey and that kind of longing you both try to hide.

you flinch at the touch of his palm on your back.

"Go on, scratch my back," he whispers hoarsely, tightening his grip, "until you reach my heart."

there is no tenderness in his voice, only anger and pain. you look into his eyes and remember "the other one," the woman who stands between you. you want to break everything. you bite his shoulder, tasting blood, and say softly:

"This is just horrific filth... can't you feel it?"

David chuckles and buries his nose in your neck. everything drowns in the scent of sweat and tobacco.