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(30) foolish - jack grealish

2:55 AM.

Double tapping on the black screen, you read the time stamped in the bold white font, 2:55 AM. It was ironic because your lock-screen was a picture of you and Jack holding up the champion's league trophy, in a loving side-embrace.

There was not a sliver of loving in your body, right now, as you sat in your pyjamas waiting on your boyfriend to get back from the club.

No, before you ask, you were not one of those girlfriends who were insecure. Jack was allowed to do whatever he wanted, for Pete's sake, he was a grown-ass man. If he wanted to go clubbing with his mates, then by all means, go and have fun! No one was or would be stopping him. However, it does come to a point of concern when that turns into an almost every-night clubbing and hanging out with the guys during the day situation.

It leaves a pang in your heart that you hardly ever see your boyfriend anymore.

"Hey, Jack. I'm worried because I haven't heard from you in a while. Please call me back when you get the chance, love you!" Trying his cell once again, all you got was the voice-call bot and recorded your 15th message.

It was irking you, eating at you, just sitting there and doing nothing so you got up and boiled a kettle. Maybe, the chamomile tea that Jack got you would help calm you down. Stirring the tea and hearing the spoon slide against the inside of the porcelain, it had put you in a momentary trance.

The door opening, however, hauled you from the small black-out and you peeled your head around the corner.

Jack sluggishly threw his keys in the bowl and sloppily hung his coat on the rack. His feet were unsteady and helped his movements by balancing his hands against the wall.

He was drunk. Again.

"Jack?" Calling his name softly, his head snapped up to you as he continued his drunken tirade.

"Y/N!"

He exclaimed loudly as he whooshed up close to you, breath smelling of alcohol making you hitch up your nose in mild disgust. Sloppily kissing the side of your mouth in greeting, he held onto various kitchen objects as that was his next destination.

"Jack?" You sighed.

Folding your arms, you peeped Jack taking a sip from your tea, pulling a face as the warm liquid, most likely, burned his tongue.

Jack drunk was like a completely different person, all sense disappearing and only alcohol on the brain.

"Jack."

Finally, he faced you but it seemed as if he was struggling to focus on you. His eyes moving in all kinds of crazy directions, up and down and side-ways, but never to yours.

"Hello, love, how are you? How's your day been?"

His slurring making his Brummie accent thicker and more difficult to understand. Jack's dopey smile would've had you caving in, long ago, if you weren't on a mission to straighten things out.

It's sad that your mood was not matching his, for once.

Jack frowned when he got no response. "Y/N, is everything okay?"

"No. I think there's something we need to talk about, seriously."

The stern tone of your voice sobered your boyfriend right up as he led you to the dining table and sat down. Albeit, Jack was still stroll with his motor functions — alcohol was truly the enemy and a bitch.

"Lately..." You started off, folding your hands, and staring straight into his puppy dog eyes. "...I've barely seen you around the house. I don't care if you go clubbing or to parties with your friends but staying at home with me, once in while, wouldn't be so bad."