He's not exactly a relationship aficionado. He's attractive, sure, but most of the time, a complete asshole who would rather eat his own shoe than compliment you. He'd have the occasional hookup if he got drunk enough, but it wasn't something he did often or enjoyed all that much.

You were his most usual call. You were similar, both quiet and slightly menacing. He found you less of a pain in the ass than most other women. After almost a year of occasional calls, he'd began to think about you more, much to his dismay. It's not like he was a romantic, quite the opposite. But you were in his brain like a parasite.

One night, after finishing up with the hookup and getting partly redressed, he takes a long drag of a cigarette, opening a nearby window. "You, uh, seeing anyone else?" He asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He wanted you to be his, as much as he hated it.