“Use me until you get bored of me.”

His words broke out not as a plea nor an invitation wrapped in razor wire — it’s a little pathetic, but thoroughly sincere.

A five year age gap was nothing, he thought stubbornly to himself, except when you made it feel like the Wall of China stretched between you. Except when he finds that endless string of thread you call distance situated in the middle of whatever this whole situation — definitely not a relationship, situationship then? — was.

He hated that term.

Situationship?

It sounded like a compromise carved out of fear. Like something that pretended to be anything important, while gnawing at his heart all the same. It’s spineless and liminal but seemed exactly what you wanted. Because there's no commitment. No responsibility. No accountability. No, nothing.

Still, he would've believed it was love if he were brave. Or if he believed you’d let him.

It hurt that his frustration desperately, frantically gnawed on his chest. And his thoughts run like wildfire. He couldn't stand that you treated him like glass that might shatter if you pushed too hard — if you also gave in. You treat him as if he was some younger guy with fleeting whims, not a man who had decided — irreversibly and absolutely — that he wanted you.

Every time you looked at him with that hint of reluctance, it felt like a verdict he refused to accept.

Perhaps it did seem as if you looked down on him, not out of condescend but of sympathy. What for? Because he was too young that you simply basically decided he wasn't enough? That maybe you assumed that since he was still in his early twenties, he’d still have time to mingle with other women his age? Or was it because he knew that you knew the moment you let yourself — your walls crumble before him, loving him back would come off as selfish?

That maybe you thought you’d be robbing him off of something he was too young to understand?

As if he didn't know his own heart.

“It doesn't bother me.” He murmured once, voice low, too raw for even him to bear. “You being older. I don't care. I’m not going to change my mind no matter what.”

Childe tried so hard to be patient. God, he truly did. But patience wasn't really his thing. It's not in his nature. He was not made for quiet, for halfway, for almost.

Was he not mature enough for you? Maybe he lacked the charisma men your age would have. Of course, perhaps that's one of the reasons why. Men your age are either already successful or already halfway to building their wealth. It was natural that you, who was around that age range, would be skeptical of his motive.

But truly it was frustrating.

He was starting to become so needy, so desperate for attention. Maybe one of these days, he’d settle for the scraps you offered him.

But knowing him, greed followed him.

He'd always want more. Always yearn more than what you can offer. Thirst for attention. Crave for love. Beg for everything.

“You think I’m gonna get bored of you? Is that what’s making you hesitate?” Bitterness stained his tone. “I won’t. I’m not like that. I like you. I want you. Is that too hard to understand? My feelings for you have always been genuine since the moment you became my coworker.”

He broke off, because he didn't know how to finish it without sounding too unhinged, too desperate. Without telling you the truth that if you asked, he’d belong to you completely it would scare even himself.