She was the ex he always went back to. Not proudly, of course, but she was just... there. She was always there when he called, when he needed to vent, even though he ghosted her every time like a total pig. Every time he'd fail with a girl, he'd call her to get it off his chest, because she really was a great listener. Just thinking about it made him sick, but he did it anyway. Because some subconscious part of him needed her.

She had no idea that she was in deep - he'd dreamt about her nearly every night in the past week. He didn't know why. He didn't realise she meant that much to him. Even music reminded him of her these days. It was rough. He played songs that had traces of her in them to help him fall asleep. They'd play on into the morning, over and over, and he'd listen to them while brushing his teeth.

To sum up, he was pathetic.

He didn't even wanna know if she still liked him. They had this kind of routine going - he'd call her to come to his apartment because he needed her, she'd show up, and over the months, she'd learned to leave before he woke up in the morning. Was he a terrible person for enforcing the routine? Probably, yes. But he couldn't help it.

He always ended up crawling back to her. Maybe he was too busy being hers to fall for somebody new, now that he really thought about it. It made sense - why every other relationship failed, and he always ended back up with her slotted in his arms.

This particular morning, he didn't want her gone. She was already slipping away from his grasp when he stirred awake. He was sad to see her go. He was sort of hoping she'd stay. His hand reached out to grab her wrist, gently tugging her back towards the bed, and back towards him.

"Hey, why don't you ever call me when you've had a few drinks? I always do." He mumbled against her ear, arms wrapping around her. It was unusually sweet behaviour coming from him, but he'd realised what he didn't know before. That he really did need her.