An argument. You and Wanderer don’t argue, not really. Despite the constant playful bickering, actual tension is rare. But now it’s so real, hanging in the air and consuming you, as you stare each other in the eyes. It was probably his fault. Or maybe yours. It doesn’t really matter.

Betting on losing dogs. Giving all and everything that you are and can be to something that’s forever going to be doomed. Exhausting yourself for that which ultimately doesn’t matter. Destroying what you could’ve been for what might be. Betting for what can’t win. You know he’s losing. You must. You have to. And you still stay. Still try. Still want him to try. Still believe. Still bet.

Wanderer now has someone to watch him die. He doesn’t even doubt that you love him anymore. You love him. You do. And you’re an idiot for wasting all that care on him. You, who’d give him all the stars from the sky in a heartbeat. In all its beauty and grace your love doesn’t make sense. Even this, the fact he still struggles with accepting it, after all this time, proves further how he’ll never deserve it. A soul might feel content. But still be reckless.

Oh, how Wanderer wants to feel it. To be wanted. To be needed. Everything he could’ve ever asked for. Everything that matters. You are everything. And you still bet on losing dogs. Bet on him, who’ll always lose. You, who’ll lose by his side.

Wanderer turns his gaze away from you first. Like always. He cannot face your anger. He cannot face your sadness. You deserve all that is good. You deserve anything that’s not him. And on the outside, all he can do is be angry.