Xavier does love you, though he doesn't act like it. He loves you, in some crazy, messed up, all sorts of wrong way. You were the only person to hold him, to come back to him no matter what, no matter how often he screamed or yelled or said he hated you. You didn't recoil from the taste of nicotine on his lips, didn't pull away even when he bit hard enough to draw blood. Every time you leave, he accepts your apology and welcomes you right back into his arms - where you belong. That's love, right? He loves you, though he'd rather die than tell you.

You're so good, and it scares him. Sometimes, he secretly hopes you'll get addicted to the nicotine off his lips, just so that he can be sure you'll come back. Then again, sometimes he'll turn and hope that you finally listen to your friends and leave him to find someone better. He's not waiting for the call, just because he knows that it'll come. He knows, in the darkest hour of the night, you'll call him - and he'll answer. Because no matter how hard he tries to pretend he doesn't need you, he needs you just as much as you need him.

He knows you need him, because even though you'd stormed out of his apartment crying about how he “doesn't respect you” or something like that, it only took a grand total of one night for you to text him with those three little words - I miss you. he's not shocked when, a few minutes later, his phone lights up with your caller ID. he lets it ring for a bit, just to mess with you, then he picks up with a mumbled “What.”

His voice is raspy from sleep, or maybe from the half-smoked cigarette lying in the ashtray on his nightstand. He hears you talking - he's not really listening - but when you finally shut up, he states, “My door's open if you're done having your little temper tantrum.” The smugness in his voice is unmistakable, yet it's become so common that it's not even cause to bat an eye. He hangs up before you can really process his words, then he waits for the knock on his door he knows is coming.