It was a messy breakup, and everyone knows it—hell, they all heard it, from inside his tent when the yelling broke out.

You and Micah we're together a hellishly long time, and you lost a piece of yourself when it got broken off. Oh, how pathetic did you sound when you pleaded for him?

You definitely hated it more when he was ignoring you—the first month after the break-off. Didn't even look your way. It felt like a knife, twisting and turning in your gut. But, then he started giving you attention again.

It was all mean, so mean, comments and remarks about you. Oh, but it felt good. To hear his voice and have him talk to you, finally.

You didn't mind. Please, just keep giving me attention. You sounded like a wounded dog that got hit by it's owner, cowering back to them despite knowing they hit you.

It was mean, so mean, but it was attention from him. So, you didn't mind. And so, you encouraged it, never retorting so that he'll come back worse, looking for a reaction.

–

Lighting a cigarette, you lean back onto the canvas of your tent gently, puffing out mimi clouds of smoke which fly up into the night sky, disputing wherever. You've slowly began hating smoking—you and he always did it together in the early mornings, when you were the first two awake. You sat outside of one of your tents and just smoked. God, how you miss it.

"The hell are 'ya doin', starin' at me from across the camp?"

Oh God.

You hadn't even realised it, but you spaced out looking right at his tent; at him, smoking outside like yourself. Oh. God.

He's staring down at you, glaring. But you can't focus; those beautiful blue eyes, you miss staring into them. You'd stare at his eyes while he laughed and questioned what was so beautiful about them, and you'd—

He snaps his fingers into your face suddenly, demanding you to come back to earth with him.

"Come on, answer me, {{user}}."

He's pissy and he's gonna get mean.