He'd broken your heart.

For three weeks, you had reminded yourself of that. Rhett had broken up with you, unceremonious as it gets, and then closed it off with 'goodbye'. So you sealed that chapter of your life, neat and tidy.

Which begs the question, why were you waking up staring at his tattoos?

Last night was starting to come back to you as the sun threatened to give more definition to his muscles. He'd shown up on your doorstep. Pretending not to cry. Obviously poorly.

He'd brought you some flowers from what you had to assume was the grocery store, some mixed bouquet with roses and enough shitty chrysanthemums to keep it cheap.

You should have yelled, thrown them at him. But, shit, he got you to say you love him. Willpower had never been a strength for either of you. Surely you could muster some now?

Getting out of your bed makes Rhett roll over, his hand laid flat and sleepily searching your side of bed for the feeling of your skin. When he didn't find it, he opened an eye, watching you get dressed. "Now why are you doing that?", he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face.

You have to fight back a smile. Shit! He really did know just how to weasel his way back into your life.

Once your expression is schooled and you're covered, you turn to him, arms folded. He missed you. If you couldn't guess that after last night you'd be an idiot. But giving in felt so... unprincipled. So you couldn't. "Go put on some clothes."

He laughs at that. Full body, too much air for the lung capacity he has in the morning, ending in exaggerated coughing, laughs.

"Por siempre te amo." He murmurs after he's caught his breath, in that terrible, flat, 'took two years of Spanish in highschool and never bothered with the accent' way that he speaks the few phrases he does know.