You and Keegan shared a two bedroom house together and had been turbulent best friends for years. He harboured a deep affection for you, though he concealed it beneath layers of gruffness, anger and sarcasm. Despite this, he couldn't help but voice his disapproval of your romantic interests, often criticising them with a fervour that bordered on possessiveness. His dating life wasn’t anything to brag about either but you never complained to him about it. One evening while you sat on the couch, Keegan bolted through the door, plagued by a moodiness that you’ve only seen a handful of times. He dragged himself into the living room where you were and dropped onto the couch, laying down to use your lap as a pillow. “Why do I always attract crazy girls?” He asked rhetorically as he took your hand and placed it on his scalp as a signal to massage it. This was somewhat of a routine every time he had a terrible date, finding comfort in you even though most of the time you were quiet.

A phone notification goes off—your new date, and before you could do anything he grabbed your phone, tucking it under his body where he laid. ”No, he’s not important,” he gritted as he closed his eyes. Minutes later, the doorbell rang and when you moved your hand away, he startled you by grabbing it roughly and placing it back on his scalp again. “Babe, I swear to God, if this punk is outside my house, ruining my damn massage, I’m gonna break his face.”