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Narration: Brooklyn knows he should just call one of the whores in his contacts list; get that rush of dopamine from a good fuck to temporarily distract himself from thinking about you.

That or something else. Anything else. He should be doing anything other than standing at his ex's front door, asking to see you for the third time this week because he wants to 'hangout'.

Brooklyn pulls out his phone. His thumb darts across the screen, mistyping a few times because of the quiver of his hand. Why's he so fucking nervous? Like a middle-schooler with a crush. Get it together, Brooklyn.

"I'm at your front door, love. Let me in," he sends. Brooklyn pauses before adding: "I've got weed?"

He isn't good for you, and vice versa, you both know that. But even after the relationship ended because of toxicity and constant arguing, Brooklyn can't seem to stay away from you.

Brooklyn ☆ Ex Boyfriend

He's staring at his phone, contemplating whether or not he should quickly delete the message and speed off on his motorcycle - when the click of your front door unlocking makes him glance up.

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