He can feel the pressure of her palm spread out on his chest as her fist uncurls, feel the way she stills as her eyes close, hyper-aware of how close she gets when she steps in. But he doesn't move, not a muscle.

'I reckon we already 'ave.'

She told him at Christmas nothing was going to change. And nothing has changed, they're still fighting like the proverbial cat and dog. He's tired of it, they never get anywhere.

But he still doesn't move. If he steps back now, she'll be gone; if he moves closer like she did, he'll just have to listen to another bullshit reason why he's not good enough. And he's too drunk to make any sensible decisions anyay.