a/n; this one's a little difficult to explain. i really, really can't stand the idea of cheating, so it was kinda awkward to write this (it's also very cheesy to me, which didn't help :/). the idea came from dad explaining something from a soap to me; this guy kept cheating on his wife, but never left her. one of the women he'd slept with really thought she was in love with him, and kept trying to talk him into leaving his wife. dad said something like he'd cheated on his wife so many times but hadn't left her, that there was no way he ever would. few months later, this is created...

i wrote most of it tonight, and haven't bothered checking for typos or anything, so if there is anything, please let me know.

i do not own these characters, they belong to Matt and Trey.

You slept with someone else. It's nothing new. You broke your promise, broke my heart. We shouldn't have argued; you shouldn't have done it.

You've hurt me. Again.

I don't want to see you for a while. You'll say it wont happen again. Blah blah blah. We know how this bit goes.

And how exactly did we end up like this? This is the part where I'm supposed to cry, tell you how I trusted you, and you have to stand there silently apologising while I swing my fists at your chest. Once I get tired you'll hold me for a while, during which I think of how this all started, how we used to blush whenever we saw each other, how you confessed, how I followed.

Or maybe I'll think of my mother's words, the looks and whispers that follow us through town as we hold hands. "not good enough," they glare at you, "hopeless fool," they hiss at me. They might be right. Who knows.

Once I'm done with my thoughts, will you know to let go before I push you away again? I bet you have the timing down to an art. Maybe that's why you started this whole cheating thing, so you could perfect your timing around me.

Well, I can dream.

I think it was butters who took you away first. I honestly don't remember anymore. I think I don't care.

I'll shut myself in the bedroom sometime soon, without eating dinner. Maybe tonight will be one of those times when I cry, maybe not. I might go to bed early, I might go to bed late. Either way, my eyes wont close till around four-ish, until you've worked yourself up to crawling in next to me. I can already feel you poised on the edge of the bed, back towards me, then you'll turn, and shift a little, a little more, until we cuddle like nothing's happened.

This'll occur very quickly tonight, we're far too used to the routine to waste much time complaining, bitching, arguing.

It used to take days to get like this. I remember when it was weeks.

The first time took months. We kept up our façade of calmness until it became unbearable.

And we can feel that tonight is different. I think I've given up to it, the fact I have to share you. It hurts, like a huge rock has replaced my heart, but it's always there, it'll never go. Maybe you can feel that, maybe not. There's a funny emptiness from you, like maybe Bebe didn't interest you so much this time. Maybe you thought it was pointless this time. Maybe I'm imagining things.

It'll be about twenty when I'll be lying under a light blue duvet, you'll've given up your designated spot on the couch and wandered in to join me.

I'll rest my head on your shoulder tonight, feeling your guilt and shame at the hurt in my eyes, hearing your mental apologies or unkeepable promises and I'll know we'll be okay.

Nobody will understand.

Everybody will judge. I will be your foolish toy and you can never be good enough.

But I'll see my hurt reflected in your eyes, and we'll know that this awkward, possibly unending routine is better than being torn apart.

And I know you'll always come back here with me.