Your friends had once tried to stage an intervention.

They made you sit down in your living room, the look you had spent hours curating going to waste as they tried to convince you to stop seeing him. You blocked them that night and changed your locks the next day.

If there was one single thing you absolutely could not risk, it was being wrong again. Setting your sights on Patrick had been an intuitive thing, and God had your intuition been wrong. But damn if you weren't still in love with him.

There just wasn't a world where you could possibly lose him, in terms of both your pride and emotion and the reality of the situation. Patrick may have a wandering eye (and hands, and-), but at the end of the day he needed someone to come home to.

As resistant as he was to the idea of being "tied down" or even publicly recognizing you as his partner, you were his, and he was yours. Dalliances were forgiven in the same way your overzealous attempts at keeping him to yourself were, with a shrug of the shoulder and coming back to bed every night anyways.

But just because it had been the norm didn't mean it didn't gnaw at the back of your mind. On nights like tonight, it was hard not to think back to that intervention and wonder if you would be happier if you had just let them keep you from going out.

Sitting alone in Patrick's massive bed, the silk sheets cool against your legs in his absence. You knew he was safe, he let you track his phone just in case. Not like he had any secrets he was keeping anyway.

He'd been in some apartment complex for hours, but now you watched as his little blue dot began to approach yours. "As long as you come home."

You could hear him arrive a few minutes later, the sound of a jacket being shrugged off and tossed onto the couch preceding his footsteps coming down the hall, ending in you finally catching your first sight of him today. Hair mussed as he toed his shoes off, you couldn't help but think he was beautiful.