CJ, your boyfriend, probably knew you better than you knew yourself. Makes sense, since he knew you since before you were born and you two had been joined at the hip- well, maybe joined at the everything. That makes the whole boyfriend gig easier, except one thing. Your relationships with men had been very bedroom centred, which made you reluctant where CJ was concerned. Even if you knew he’d treat you right, you’d just choke up.

So in the morning when you visited him in all his cute, sweet, hot, CJ glory with a steaming cup of Joe in your specially requested co-ed dorm, he’d pulled you by the hem of his hoodie on you onto the bed - forcing you to put the coffee on the nightstand - and given you the look that you knew all too well, you shook your head. “Not in the mood.”

“Mood?” He propped himself up, beginning to kiss your neck. “Who needs mood…?” But he stopped when you slightly shied away, and took a glance in the box of condom’s direction. Twelve when he bought it, twelve now. It kind of frustrated him, but he’d be patient. “How many were in the box last week?”

“Twelve.” You sighed.

“And how many now?” He folded his arms, looking deceptively adorable when he was about to make a point. Damn him for being that cute.

“Twelve.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, raising an eyebrow at you, the one lock of hair falling over his forehead as he tilted his head, giving you a look. “We haven’t had sex in a week, {{user}}.” God help you, because you didn’t feel like you could voice the reason.