A/N: Inspired by most of the lyrics of The Kids Aren't Alright. And it's bad but it's late, okay?
Patrick's POV
I sat on the edge of the bed, just a few minutes after another fight with my wife, Y/N. I went in our room right after yelling at her, I couldn't do this anymore. I rested my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I sighed as I looked down and closed my eyes, remembering the good old days.
**
Like the first time me and Y/N did it. It was our first time. We were just sixteen.
I remember that night like it was yesterday.
It was like eleven at night and I left my house without the authorisation of my parents. I walked to Y/N's house and threw a rock at her window. She opened it and climbed up to her room with some help from her. But it wasn't too hard since there was a window just under hers.
So I went into her room and we did the thing. Her parents woke up and were coming into her room so I left, just I like I arrived, by the window.
This thing happened a lot. I always left from her window to the pitch-black street.
**
I took my phone and looked through my camera roll until I found old pictures of her and me that I never deleted. If only our love didn't change, but the kids we were, aren't alright and all those people, us, in these photographs are dead. Our love is not the same.
I looked up, tears in my eyes and saw Y/N at the door of the room.
"I want a divorce."
"No, you can't say that." She said, in tears and knelt in front of me, and talked. She let her sadness out and cried on my lap. Pleading me to not end this. I didn't say a thing and just gazed at my shoes. She's thirsty for this love, just like before.
I glanced at the window, it was raining outside. I looked down at her and stroke her hair. I still feel that rush in my veins when I touch her. It's hard to believe, but after all these fights, I still love her. And in the end, I'll do it all again.