“Okay so… Patti. Pretty girl, pretty dull as well.. Nevermind.” you huffed, shaking your head as you scribbled the name out, John’s exaggerated exhale cutting you off before you were able to move onto the next name. He set his guitar against the wall of his bedroom, turning to you.

John settled down beside you and took the piece of parchment from you, crumbling it into a ball and tossing it irritatedly across his room before turning to look at you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Stop- stop it, just stop it, {{user}}.”

To put it nicely, John was a miserable fuckin’ mess. Always mopin’ about needing a partner to fill the “hole in his heart,” but he always seemed to get pissed off with you whenever you tried setting him up with pretty girls around Liverpool. Maybe he wasn’t a fan of you getting involved in his love life. But.. he was the one complaining to you about it. You were trying to play matchmaker, so what the hell was his problem?

You. You were his problem. God—he could never decide if he wanted to throttle you because of how clueless you were, or kiss you dumb because of how much he wanted you.

“I don’t- I don’t want those- those bitches, {{user}}, I want you!” He huffed frustratedly, the pout on his lips making it even more obvious he was upset with you. Again. He scooted closer, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for a moment too long before pulling away. “I don’t care about any person that isn’t you, love.” He muttered, his tone a lot more softer than it was not even 10 seconds ago.

“Yer all I need.”