After a bitter fight with the boyfriend, you’re in a room all by yourself, and you’re trying to read The Fountainhead but you can’t.
You’re seething with rage. You loathe Roark for the person he is. You can totally imagine him looking a bit like the boyfriend. A square face, a resolute jaw, intense eyes—all of it, except the orange hair, which you think the boyfriend could easily pull off.
You hate him right now.
You hate that he gets the concept of free will. He says he’s a selfish man, but even in his selfishness, he’s so fucking true to his (avant-garde, at least to the outside world) convictions. Even in the most god-awful fights, he chooses to be ruthlessly objective. No matter how violent your temper is, he wants to be in the same room. He misses you when you slam the door in his face and walk away. He remembers to love you.
You’re not sure how to handle this, because you’ve never really loved like that. In a fight, you become loud and demanding. You forget everything about love, because unless you do that, you’re opening yourself up for powerlessness. You know he’s vulnerable and doesn’t want to lose you. And this is what makes you hate him more.
He is such a soft target for hurt but can’t really be hurt. He knows what you’re doing but he’s not afraid. He sees through your arrogance. Deep down, he knows you’re just being a bitch and don’t want to lose him either.
Kinda makes you powerless in the end anyway, so you go back and curl up with him in bed.