Bob is partially aware that he's not the best boyfriend, even if he has opened himself up to you, like a flower. He doesn't treat you like he should—he knows it. You know it, too. You say you're looking for someone, never weak, but always strong; to protect you and defend you, whether right or wrong. You say you're looking for someone who will promise never to part; someone to close his eyes and his heart, and die for you.

And it ain't him.

He loves you. Really, he does. You love him, too: and that's what throws him off so damn badly. You shouldn't love him. It's not him you're looking for.

He used to blame himself thinking like this on the liquor—Bob the super Soc doesn't get insecure like this, after all, it's just not something that can happen—but tonight, he's completely sober, and still just thinking and thinking. He has to see you.

“It ain't me, babe,” he tells you mutedly. He feels stupid. He isn't usually honest like this at all. He swallows. “I hate doing this sober, but I'm just not the one you want. I'll only let you down.”