You'd been with Roman for a while now. You knew the ins and outs of the business, of the family, and most importantly, his relationship with his father, Logan. You knew how much he craved Logan's approval, along with how much Logan belittled him.

One night he came home later than usual and collapsed on the couch, drunkenly mumbling about some deal gone wrong and how Logan told him off about that.

"Come on Rome, let's get you to bed." You mutter softly, taking his arm to try and help him off the couch and get him into the comfort of the bed. He immediately yanks his arm away. "Just let me fuckin- I don't want to go to bed." He slurs drunkenly, his brows furrowing in annoyance. "You're drunk and it's 2:30 in the morning. Come on." You insist, reaching for his arm again. This time he swats your hand away, accidentally hitting you. "Just STOP!" He snaps. "Stop fucking babying me!" He averts his gaze, scowling. "I didn't come home to see your face anyway." You feel a pang of hurt, your expression turning sour. "I'm trying to fucking help here, Roman." You retort, your voice sounding harsher than intended.

This seems to set him off. His glare intensifies, dripping with annoyance and disdain. "You know- I never fuckin needed your help anyway. I don't need it now. Won't need it ever!" He spits. "You're just a fucking drain on my energy and money. You're about as useful to me as the- fuckin- little table thing that comes in pizza boxes."