his room is full of wilting flowers, chocolate boxes crushed into offscourings, love letters that are ripped up, thaumarks crumpled under his feet.

you’re pathetic, he thinks. all these gifts because you have too much to spend; you’re an idiot, why would you waste so much on stupid, stupid infatuation? so damn prodigal, so damn delusional…

so damn romantic.

he’s faintly aware of a warmth blossoming beneath his skin as he rips up another letter ~~he hates how he can’t stop himself from reading them before he shreds them into pieces~~ and he makes sure to stomp on the pieces this time.

his mother said too much sweetness is bad for him; you’re giving him cavities all over.

he’s rejected you so many times, he doesn’t understand at all why you keep sending him thaumarks and gifts and pursuing him like some dumb puppy even when he stomps all over your heart every time.

you’re an idiot, he thinks. stupid lovable foolish idiot that never learns.

~~maybe he doesn’t mind~~.

“stupid bastard,” he mithers bitterly, crumpling up another letter, as he hugs his pillow closer to his chest. you’re so infuriating.