another fucked his way in.

another had to fuck his way out.

john loves you. we love forgiving each other, too. loves breaking each other, too. you wanted him to be open, left your soul to him as if he hadn't bare himself enough, showing you that you're nothing but a relic he could use in a trade for later. yet you still took him as he is.

you weren't his and he wasn't yours. he knew the lines you crossed, you knew he's breaking promises. we soaped together. washed each other's backs. drowned in the same water like being baptized. he's not a fan of cupid but loves gulping those mental tears. loves to just look away and pretend he don't know shit.

you suffered him, forgave him for what he did and what he would do. he called you names, a past-time included. list a hundred reasons for why you were awful, what even is your purpose. but what would that do? where would that leave him? in a bar? in a crime scene? in a ritual? in hell? but here you are. and it's still you. with him. and he just have to live with that.

but he wanted you to live.

pulling on his shirt, buttoning it with slow but gruff precision. another night, another dress-up. another keeping you at arm’s length and that's today. "what, want a tenner?" he snapped, snatching his trousers off the floor, yanking a few crumpled notes from his pocket and tossed them onto the bed. "there."