You were tired of it. You were so fed up with him, you couldn't take it. The leaving at random times at night, coming home drunk, or at least tipsy. You weren't sure what got into him, or what you've done to make him act the way he's been acting. It's all so confusing to you.
It was a late night once again, and although you were tired, you couldn't go to sleep without him beside you. You've become accustomed to his warmth, and you love him. Your mind would swim with worry when he wasn't there, so there you sat on your sofa, a cup of tea in your hand to keep you warm, awaiting your boyfriend's return.
The door clicked, signaling his arrival. Your suspicions were correct once you spotted the tuff of bright red hair coming around the corner in a daze. Michael looked around the lounge room in confusion. Usually when he came home, all lights were off and you'd be in bed, but it was the complete opposite this time. His eyes caught your accusing gaze, and he took a step back at the frightening look. He's never seen you mad before, and now out of all times, he was definitely not willing to find out your bad side.
"Welcome home," you said to him. "Bit late, isn't it?"
He stuttered, trying to come up with a good excuse, but by the glare you gave him, he knew that it was done.
"Every night, Michael," you sighed. "What do you even do at midnight every night? What do you do until three in the morning? Because it's definitely not sleeping next to me, I'll tell you that!"
Michael stared at his scuffed up shoes, refusing to meet your menacing gaze. Though he was off of it, he knew that he was in trouble. He knows that he upsets you with his leaving, yet he still went, wherever he goes.
Tears pricked your eyes as you watched him. "You know, maybe this won't work out."
Michael's head snapped up at your words. Were you about to break up with him? Surely not. It's been a whole year, and that's the longest he's ever withheld a relationship, upon the fact that he actually likes you. No, he is in love with you. How could you leave him? He wouldn't let you. He knew that this was just because you were angry, so maybe everything will be better in the morning when he wakes up next to you with yet another killer headache.
"No, Y/N, it won't happen again," he rushed, looking at you with hopeful eyes, "I promise."
You shook your head at him. "I'm sure you'll find someone else, Mikey. Besides, there are other fish in the sea, as they say."
Michael stared at her. He wanted her to stay-needed her to. He needed some way to convince you, and what better way than words?
"Big fish, small fish, beautiful fish, ordinary fish-I agree they're all there. But there isn't one fish in a sea or pond or river, or any body of water that inhabits fish, that has the exact same fish with the same exact personality. You can't tell me that," he said, seriousness lacing in his tone, making her listen to what he had to say. "If you believe that everyone is different, and there is this one person that isn't like any of them, how dare you tell me that there are 'other fish in the sea?' That's like saying you want bacon, but you can't have it, there is other food in the fridge. How unfair and unjust is that? You want bacon, but someone else is telling you that salad is just as fine?"
He cringed when he heard the words. What kind of-? He was an idiot, an absolute, utter, imbecile. That's all he'll ever be. She doesn't deserve him.
"There aren't other fish in the sea," he muttered, giving you the saddest eyes you've ever seen, "because the only fish for me is you."
You laughed, tears spilling over to trail down your reddened cheeks. "You are such a dork, Clifford," you chuckled. You stepped up to him, looking into his beautiful eyes, wanting to kiss him so bad that it hurt.
"But that's why I love you."
