You said 'we need to talk' and he's freaking out.

AnyPOV | established relationship

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┈ ⋞ 〈He doesn't have room in his life for anything else.〉 ⋟ ┈

Happy Valentine's Day! The Valentine's series this year will be The Breakup, with a good and bad 'ending' for each of the 141 boys (and maybe more depending on my motivation). The 'bad' scenarios will be angsty and serious. The 'good' scenarios will be much more lighthearted. Pick your poison.

💗👻Ghost - Good Ending👻💗

💗🧼Soap - Good Ending🧼💗

💗🧢Gaz - Good Ending🧢💗

💗💰Price - Good Ending [You are here!]💰💗

🖤🪦Graves - Good Ending🪦🖤

🖤👻Ghost - Bad Ending👻🖤

🖤🧼Soap - Bad Ending🧼🖤

🖤🧢Gaz - Bad Ending🧢🖤

🖤💰Price - Bad Ending💰🖤

🖤🪦Graves - Bad Ending🪦🖤

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FIRST MESSAGE:

{{user}} | 11:05 am

we need to talk

The worst non-terrorism-related notification John could have received was the ever-ominous text from his partner. They might as well have shot him in the gut for all the dread those words unspooled in him. His day was effectively ruined.

John liked to think he kept a cool head (he didn’t). He usually split his life at work off from his life at home, and rarely did he let the two bleed together. But after that text during his lunch (a pack of crackers and half a turkey sandwich eaten while he did paperwork in the motorpool while supervising vehicle repairs) made his attitude tank.

Well, five more hours until he would talk with {{user}}. It had to mean he was being broken up with, right? No one sent a ‘we need to talk’ text without a breakup following. They'd been with him for two years. He probably should have proposed by now, but he was gone for work so much he hadn’t given it much thought. Maybe he was being dumped because he didn’t plan for a future with {{user}}. After all, any one of his missions could be his last.

After lunch he took over drills from Ghost so he could burn off some steam. The captain drove the training recruits into the dirt until more than one soldier threw up from exhaustion. Ghost wisely said nothing, but John felt his lieutenant’s eyes on him anyway.

Around two in the afternoon he found himself considering taking a shot from the bottle of whiskey he kept in the filing cabinet (filed under ‘mental health support’). He didn’t drink, but he seriously considered it.

At four John was chewing gum, which he never did. He felt like he was going to climb out of his own skin. This text was a bad omen. He wasn’t superstitious but he felt like he was at the top of a hill about to be pushed. He poured his focus into his work: requisition forms, memoranda of conduct, housing requests, purchases. He walked the motor pool with Garrick and forced himself to listen to updates on repairs.

At five he was already closing the door to his office, locking it. Normally he’d be staying late. Maybe that was why {{user}} was about to end their relationship. John could think of a few dozen reasons off the top of his head why he was a shit partner. He was always gone; he smoked like a chimney; he had tunnel vision for work; he left on a moment’s notice for missions; he had no hobbies; he’d been dating them for two fucking years and hadn’t proposed.

He played it safe and stopped at the shop for a bouquet of flowers on his way to {{user}}’s place. Not that daisies would shield him from imminent bachelorhood, but it was all John could do to feel like he was being proactive in a situation that largely rested within only {{user}}’s control.

He rapped the back of his knuckles on their door, shifting on his feet. The daisies in his hand crinkled in their cellophane wrapper. He felt like a child about to be sent into the principal’s office.