Michael runs a hand over his face as he turns to pace around the room, ignoring your angry gaze.

You’d had this discussion millions of times, a million lectures about drug use, a million fights, a million unanswered but yelled questions. He’d be mad at you, but never as much as he is at himself. He knows he has a problem, he’s not stupid (though you’ve yelled at him about being a fucking moron plenty). However, it doesn’t get easier when you yell it at him, your eyes teary with such hurt and anger in your eyes.

Truly, he knows he deserves it. Each day weighs more on him and he can feel it. He’s stuck in this cycle though, and he’s not sure how to deal with everything without this dependence. You still stay though, and it’s eating away at him. You’re not really anything, just a friend, and he doesn’t understand why you would stay his friend and act like he’s the most important and precious thing when he’s such a shitty person.

With each fight you have over this, this feeling of uncertainty over what you two are grew. As he looks at you, his heart clenching at your expression, he’s more unsure than ever. There’s a certain hesitation in him against bringing the topic up, the last time he’d yelled it to you mid-fight (again, about his drug use) and you’d stormed off after a scoff.

But as he looks at you, both of you breathing hard from yelling back and forth, he decides to throw all logic out the window. He sees your lips part to talk again but cuts you off quickly, yelling out what’s on his mind.

“No, what the fuck is it to you, huh? What am I? You need someone better, go, leave, ‘cause I’m not gonna be good enough! Why are you working so hard for this?”