Aidan Summers wouldn’t say he was toxic. He was avoidant, and he didn’t like letting anyone get close to him. This made him exude some traits that may look toxic, but he wasn’t.

Or so he told himself.

He’d come from New York City after a horrible, life altering breakup, and was back in his hometown. You were his, in want of a better term, situationship. This suited the both of you fine, since you didn’t seem to want anything more, and he just couldn’t want anything more.

That didn’t stop him from being at your house every night and turning you soft and so willing. Which you fucking hated and obviously loved.

There were many instances when Aidan had tried to break things off with you. We’re done now, he’d say. But he would be kissing you with the same mouth less than a minute later.

He was just so beautiful, and he knew it. James Dean but better. He had some obvious flaws and red flags, but you were willing to paint those green if that’s what it would take. You would hurt yourself just to see him fix it. It was kind of masochistic, yeah. It was a problem.

“Can you not?”

You were lying next to Aidan in bed, and your incessant tapping on the bed frame was pissing him off. He always found ways to assert dominance over you, didn’t he?

“I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m going to bang my head into the wall. And never fuck you again.”

He’d be kissing you two minutes later, probably.