[ WP ] Flesh out the story of your favorite song , in universe . In your story , the song is n't a song , it 's REAL LIFE .

Song: Caffeine 
 Artist: Faith No More 
 
 The song is available on Youtube here: https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=hiyvw5AD-C8 
 It's the second song of the album at 3:44 
 Lyrics can be found here: http: //songmeanings.com/songs/view/5081/ 
 
 It's not my favourite song at all, but most likely my favourite by this particular band and from what I consider to be their very best album. 
 The conception was fairly brisk and I am a tiny bit drunk so apologies for any grammatical/formatting mistakes. 
 __________________ 
 
 C A F F E I N E 
 
 He remembers the time before: 
 Before kids, before grilled cheese, before The Voice at 8PM. 
 The last button finds its assigned hole and a hand smooths down the front of his one-piece. He remembers the time where it was the suit of his profession. Nowadays, it feels like a pyjama. He washes his hands slowly, methodically, his gaze never drifting high enough to reach the mirror above the sink. 
 He still uses the back of his hand to turn off the faucet. Perhaps this means he still loves her, he contemplates as he flicks the lights off and leaves the bathroom. 
 
 She is sitting at the kitchen table, a cold cup of tea cradled in her hands. The coffee remains on the counter, untouched. He glances at it, before looking at his wife. 
 
 “ I ’ m off. ” He says. 
 
 “ See you tonight. ” She replies. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 She remembers the time before: 
 Before kids, before grilled cheese, before Top Gear at 9PM. 
 The cold tea goes in the kitchen sink. The ignored coffee joins it moments later, creating a cocktail of unfulfilled promises of adrenaline. She regrets not drinking his coffee for a brief moment before realising she doesn ’ t do that stuff anymore; she ’ s a new, healthy, woman now. He still hasn ’ t changed, though. Too many carbs, too much fat. She gathers the dishes in the sink before heading to the bathroom. It is almost magic how she manages to apply the eyeliner and the mascara without once looking into her own eyes. It ’ s almost magic. 
 An alarm clock rings in the distance. 
 It doesn ’ t matter, in the end; the kids still need to get to school, the old still need taking care of. 
 
 
 He kissed her neck exactly one week ago. The contour of his lips still burn with their absence. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 It is 10PM. 
 The TV is trying, desperately, to fill the silence with attention grabbing news of a cynical world. 
 She looks at him, then down at the beer bottle in his hand. 
 He takes a swig, looks at her gazing at the screen; his reflection is visible just under the line of her cheekbone and he hates what he sees. 
 She feels his gaze, hot and angry, and she hates herself. 
 
 
 The newscaster flaunts a row of white veneers. 
 

