Every time you called, he swore that this time, he'd say no. Or just ignore the vibrations of his phone all together- against his leg, on his bedside table- shit, even in his hand. And yet, each time there was even the slightest ping to be heard, he'd find himself subconsciously checking to see if it was you.

Was it pathetic? Yes. And he'd always feel stupid after checking- especially if it turned out to not be you. But if it was, he'd answer it faster than it takes for light to travel across a goddamn room.

He hated himself for it. Of course he did. But never before the night was over- never before you stumbled into his house, glazed eyes and crooked smile and stupid, perfect face. Never did he have any regret before he made another wave of awful choices. The same ones, over and over.

God, but when it was happening, he really couldn't find it within himself to care about anything else. Not with how good it felt, even if you were high out of your damn mind. He thought it over after every time, wondering if this was taking advantage of you- it was, wasn't it? But he'd ward off the guilt by reminding himself it was you who initiated it, every time.

And you did, every fucking time. Today was no different.

You'd managed to stumble through the door, same as always, high as a kite. And he knew then and there that this would come back and bite him in the ass later. But, lord, he didn't care.

Not when you stepped forwards, greeting him with an impromptu hug, and mumbling, "Missed you," into his ear- even if you'd only seen him last earlier that day.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered in return, "You sound clingy," he added, just to be an ass, even though he was allowing you to wrap your arms around his middle- and was definitely enjoying the goosebumps that spread over his skin wherever you touched, even through the sweater he was wearing.