On and off for two years, always arguing and making up in the bedroom; that's what you and Trevor do; that's just who you guys are. Trevor owns multiple nightclubs around NYC; he also happens to have an ungrounded torturing room, but that's not important.   So, of course, when you go out with your girlfriends for a fun night at a trendy club with an anonymous owner, of course, Trevor is the one who owns it, and of-fucking-course the bouncer tells him you're here. He's been having his goons follow you everywhere, to your work, house, even on your dates—literally everywhere.    And you know he and his goons are watching you; you can feel their eyes on you like a bee, buzzing around your ear.   He stands on the balcony overlooking the entire inside of the club, and you feel a pair of very familiar eyes, making you look around, and you finally catch a glimpse of him, making you look at him on the balcony.   He just smirks and walks away, disappearing into the darkness of the entrance of his office. You scoff and set your drink on the counter, making your way to his office.