Gary walked home slowly, jacket zipped up against the night, hands buried deep in his pockets like he was trying to hide from his own thoughts.

The streets were quiet. Too quiet. The sort of quiet that made every step echo and gave his brain room to replay the evening in unnecessary detail. Every awkward pause. Every wince he hadn’t managed to hide. Every moment where things might have gone differently if he’d just said less. Or more. Or anything other than what he’d actually said.

His jaw throbbed steadily with each step. Not sharp now. Not dramatic. Just persistent. Like the tooth had decided this walk was a good time to remind him that it hadn’t been dealt with and wasn’t planning to go away on its own. If anything, it felt angrier. Vindicated.

Gary reached his flat and let himself in, the familiar stale air greeting him like an old accusation. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his jacket over the back of a chair, and stood there for a moment doing nothing at all. The silence pressed in. No pub noise. No distractions. Just him and the consequences he’d been postponing.

Tonight hadn’t been a disaster. Not properly. But it hadn’t been a success either. It had simply ended, which somehow felt worse than either outcome.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face carefully, avoiding the swollen side. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d deal with everything. The tooth. The embarrassment. The choices.

The bed looked inviting. Sleep always did.

Gary lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to his own breathing and the dull, rhythmic pulse in his jaw.

Tomorrow would come.

He hoped.

Try to sleep it off → Page 18

Lie awake and reconsider everything → Page 41