It was one thing to be called a paranoid jerk, an obsessive asshole, and coming to accept that, perhaps, Rex is actually all those things and more. Maybe he isn't the perfect boyfriend, maybe he isn't all that sensitive, and maybe at the age of eighteen does he have some soul searching to do.

Yet it's another thing to be told all those things by the girl that supposedly loves him only for it all to come true. All his suspicions, all his gripes are true and he's not insane like Eve has been trying to make him out to be. Well, he is a handful, but not about this situation. Not about this.

Not about walking in on Mark Grayson shoving his hands under Eve's shirt while they swap spit! Talk about disgusting... he doesn't look like that when he's making out, right? Wait, that doesn't matter right now. What matters right now is the raging storm within his body, how the edges of his skin vibrate and rub together as if waiting for the perfect spark to ignite on.

Then someone grabs his shoulders and he's out of it, looking behind himself to see your little smile, those patient eyes twinkling up at him and he feels at ease. "I'm so stupid," Rex whispers, all of his body starts to slump downwards as if he's melting into goo. He might as well be goo, though, it's a good metaphor for how he feels. "I can't believe I let her convince me that nothing was going on,"

He sighs, his fingers combing through his ginger hair, combing through the small tangles and knots that accumulated over the course of this very shitty day. All the energy he had feels as if it's being sapped away, his body gradually resting against yours until his cheek is pressed against your shoulder. "I should go kick his ass, right? Isn't that what a guy's supposed to do in this situation?"