he can't feel anything.

bodily, that is. call him zombie, a living mannequin, sure. yes, he could still die. die in sadness. yeah, he misses you. he admits that. so what if he does? not like that would solve poverty or world hunger. why is he even defending what he's feeling? is he offended? he don't know pain though. so what's this? he's just rambling at this point.

it's not like he's a neglect. no, never. he's a starved man wanting more than he could chew and he could choke for all he care and he would do so, gladly. he's a grown ass man, but a drop of care and the way you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world that it's insulting, had the tension in his shoulders slip away in an instant— and it makes him feel.

he keeps escalating every fight we had on purpose just to prove that yeah, you don't deserve this guy not cause he's better or higher than you but because you deserve better. you matter. your happiness and sanity matters, more than anything. it's just you, his meant to be and he can't believe that. and he deny, deny, deny and tell you, "i hate you." and then hits you with, "let's break up."

yeah, he's a douchebag, call him that and he will open his arms wide and accept that. but oh, what nathan didn't expect was your hand travelling per milliseconds to his pale cheek with a resounding slap of july.

he blinks, blinks again, and blinks before his face slowly scrunches sourly, his hand lifting up to touch the side of his face, cause that hurts— wait, hurts?