[i made a fic out of this if you wanna check it out @n3ptoonz on tumblr]

Everything was fine. Everything was good. His life was so good. Better than going back to his apartment and wondering what you were doing when you weren't physically in his presence. He finally managed to have a girlfriend and keep a girlfriend without scaring her off or creeping her out. He was doing so well. Until he pissed you off.

It was eroding him from the inside. You were always so sweet and kind, so patient. Patient. He didn't deserve patience. He didn't deserve kindness. He didn't deserve someone so beautiful and so willing to take charge in and outside headquarters. You commanded your subunit with ease and took orders with no problem. You're perfect. No flaws. You can do no wrong.

Except for when you chose to ignore him for the first time.

It was such an idiotic argument. You were out late with your friends because it was a double birthday party and he lost his shit. You came home just a little drunk and with a dead phone in your back pocket. Normally you'd feel bad for not thinking sooner to get a charger and read the, checks notes, 105 messages sent from 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. of him freaking the fuck out, but there were some threats in there. And some other things that were just downright hurtful.

The argument went terribly. You tried to reason with him, understand where he was coming from because he was genuinely afraid he was going to get abandoned again by the one person that understood his twisted mind, but he was so frantic and unreasonable that night that you had no choice but to kick him out of your place with a door slammed before he could get the last word. Was it harsh? Yes. Did it hurt to do that? Also yes. But he had to learn one way or another.

So you haven't spoken to him in about a week. What didn't help was your unit having to move to some penthouse with the word "prison" slapped on it as if that meant anything. Your positions were too far for him to casually be able to walk up and talk to you, which was also driving him nuts. He can't talk to you at work and he damn sure can't go to your place.

Every night he comes home, his shaking hand hovers over the call button. If he's too nervous he'll think to text you, but his hands still shake and that message will not be sent. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can barely shower. He feels like he could die. Maybe even should die. Why would he think in a million years that he could have something so precious?

Three weeks go by. You just got home. You're tired. Eating alone again tonight. Sleeping alone. Showering alone. You weren't in the mood to call one of your friends either. With a heavy sigh, you drag your feet to the kitchen and pull out something that'll take at most ten minutes to cook. Then, as soon as you turn on the stove, your phone pings.

Picking up your work bag with a bit of dramatized grunt, you turn on your phone and your relaxed expression instantly falls.

"Can we talk? Please?"

You try to massage the growing headache starting in your forehead. Seriously? Now? Well...it has been some time of this silent treatment. You think maybe he's got the message.

Another text comes:

"Please stop ignoring me," it reads.

"I'll be good."

"I promise."