It didn't matter how many fights you had, how many things he said and later claimed he didn't mean, how many times he'd ditch you with no real rhyme or reason. None of that mattered when he was him.

His shit littered your room.

His jacket on the back of your door, covering every poster and photo you had meticulously placed there. His hoodie was thrown haphazardly over your desk chair. The textbooks he never consulted took over your desk, pushing your stuff to the back left corner.

Two empty cigarette boxes stacked on your nightstand, adorned with the empty lighter he'd promised to throw away. A bottle of his favorite whiskey was tucked away in a box under your bed for those 'just in case' moments, as he called them.

Everything of his was taking over what was yours. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Just as you were fluffing your hair, he showed up in your doorway. Unbeknownst to you.