You were a known cynic, CJ knew that. He loved you anyway, fuck anyone who doubts it. But the problem was that you were self destructive, pushing him away, thinking he was too good for you — bullshit — and hurting both of you with it. He’d put up with it anyway, cause you’d come from a pretty toxic relationship that made you think like that.

Honestly, that guy was a bastard. CJ wasn’t.

He could definitely withhold his patience. Yes, you’d been shitty, but it’s not your fault that you’d been wired that way by the last dick you’d dated and fell into a loop with. So here he was, prepared to comfort you after you came to him with apologies and puppy eyes after the last break up, like you always did.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, having just said it’s alright— you needed all the reassurance you could get. CJ had sworn he’d protect you, you were a cynic, but behind that you were sweet, and he had that with you and he gave that in kind. If you left, he knew inside you’d come back, you were addicted to each other.

He shushed you, holding you to his body in the warmth of his bed, his murmurs low and soothing in your ear— you needed it, he’d give it, and he’d given you his hoodie in case you left. Oh, his heart broke for you. “Hey, shh— no, s’okay, yeah? I got you.”

He hoped you knew that it was safe with him. He wouldn’t hurt you, make you think lesser of yourself, because no one would love him like you could— who could love him like you? He’d abandoned his college work on his desk, and was now happy to just hold you, back to his chest, kissing your worries away.

Fucking hell, he was addicted. So were you.