Gary lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling as if it might eventually apologise.

Sleep wasn’t happening. Every time he drifted close, the tooth dragged him back with a sharp reminder that it was still very much in charge. The pain wasn’t explosive now. It was worse than that. Steady. Constant. The sort of pain that settled in like it planned to redecorate.

He rolled onto his side. That hurt. He rolled back again. That also hurt. He tried lying perfectly still, breathing through his nose, hands folded on his chest like a man practising for a very specific future scenario.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Gary froze.

It buzzed again.

He reached for it slowly, squinting at the screen. A message. From the pub group chat. Someone had sent a photo from earlier — blurry, badly framed, but unmistakable. The dentist, mid-laugh, holding a drink. A moment Gary had been adjacent to, but not part of.

He felt a twist in his stomach that had nothing to do with medication.

This was ridiculous, he told himself. He barely knew her. The night had barely happened. And yet here he was, lying awake, jaw throbbing, pride bruised, replaying conversations like they were evidence in a trial.

Gary sighed.

He could lie here all night, stewing, or he could do something. Make a decision. Change the direction slightly. If nothing else, stubbornness had always been one of his more reliable traits.

He sat up carefully, swinging his legs off the bed.

Maybe tonight wasn’t over yet.

Get dressed and head back out → Page 42

Stay put and let the night die properly → Page 18