He ran an irritated hand over his face, his pacing never ceasing. Will’s steps were heavy as the thick tension of the room suffocated you. The creak of the shitty apartment’s floorboards only made the whole argument even more pathetic.

In the first months of dating Will things had seemed perfect—messy, but perfect. The last two weeks had been filled with scream filled arguments. Constantly you two were going at each other’s throats and several times in a row one of you had left for the weekend with a slam of the door or a yelled obscenity to the other.

But, God. You loved him. That didn’t ever change. He loved you too, just didn’t know how to show it properly. Didn’t know how to be vulnerable. “No—the Goddamn problem is that you want me to be some sort “perfect” person!” His voice boomed, palm slamming against the dry-wall. His face was crimson, hued with frustration.

He ran a hand through his mused, blond hair. “You want honesty?! You wanna know I’m a fucked up guy—I’m a fuckin’ mess? You already fuckin’ know that, {{user}}! So what do you want from me?!” His yell rattled your ear drums—sending that familiar jolt to your bunched fists.

Boston’s busy streets snd restless night life was just as loud as his voice. The honking cars and rowdy people couldn’t compare to the heavy thumping of your heart.