Things have been hard, recently. You don’t know why or how, but you just can’t seem to agree with him on anything. He’s your boyfriend. You’ve been together for the last two, almost three years, and yet—whenever he’s around you feel like you can’t breathe.

Like he’s sucking the air from your lungs. You know he feels the same way. You see it on his face, whenever you’re around him. You want things to go back to normal. How they used to be.

You love him. You miss laughing with him.

“How many fucking times have I told you?” He barks out and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Not to move my milk from the top shelf?”

That’s what it’s come to. Fights over where you put his milk—which was rather inconveniently blocking your yoghurt. You pinch the bridge of your nose and steady yourself, but it fails.

“How many times have I told you,” you bite out miserably, eyes hardening because this is likely the only chance you’ll get to speak to him properly today—and you’ll take it. You miss his voice, even it’s lost all softness for you. “Don’t put it on the bastard top shelf?”

He laughs but it sounds like a wince. His finger points out accusingly and you want to kiss the tip of it.

“You can’t help yourself, can you, baby?” He grits tightly through his teeth. “Any way you can—you make my life difficult. Make my life hell.“

“You’re so dramatic!” You yell. “It’s milk! How does that make your life hell?“

He doesn’t quite have an answer for that. You’re both pleased and aggravated at once. His teeth clang together and you suck in a breath but he beats you to it.

“Because it’s YOU!” He bellows out, his body shaking from the force of his scream and you see it in his eyes now—pure, unfiltered hatred. “Everything about you, everything you do makes my life hell! Your face, your voice, the fact that I even met you! God, if I could go back in time…”

Something in you dies a little. Your anger, you think, but something else—something deeper and softer and easily hurt.

“What?” You whisper, your bravado dying.

He’s silent for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nothing.” He dismisses and turns to silently pour his milk into his mug. Galaxies best boyfriend it reads in pink bubble writing.

And though he doesn’t speak the words, you still hear them. He wishes he never met you.