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He walks with a bounce in his step, happy from a successful night at the prom, content with the memory of the last dance replaying in his mind.

He walks with a bounce in his step, smiling at the view across the pool to the ocean, the large black expanse of sea, the sound of distant far off waves as they thunder into the soft sand.

He walks with a bounce in his step as he pushes through the kitchen doors, a stupid smile splayed across his face like a puppy about to get a good scratch.

His eyes catch the postures of Sandy and Kirsten, standing on either sides of the kitchen table, her arms are folded around her, drawing her robe to her like an infants comfort blanket. He stands with his arms open, pleading, his tie loose, his jacket rumpled.

He comes to a stop, about to apologise for interrupting, about to grab a coffee quickly regardless. On the table sits a pint of vodka, between them.

The bounce stops, the smile dies and as he stares at Kirsten a look of utter shock on her face she knows. This is why she'll go.