I pace back and forth over the kitchen tiles, impatiently waiting for Tyler to wake up. It's bright and early Tuesday morning - far earlier than I've ever purposefully woken up before. And I've been up for an hour already. My first cup of coffee is long gone.

For all I know, Tyler is already up. But there's no way he's left the house. It's 9am. No sane person leaves the house before 9. Hell, before 12 even. It's the law of college students.

Besides, Tyler is usually sober in the morning. That means we can have a normal conversation without the influence of alcohol making him violently angry.

And I'm not giving up. I'm going to wait here until he comes out of his room, so we can talk. Even if he doesn't want to, I'll make him. We have to talk. I'm tired of being sad. I'm taking control of the situation, just like Steph told me to do when she came over last night.

I'm surrounded by strong women, and I'm one of them too. I can do this. I can do this.

"Morning," Owen smiles, entering the room. He sits down at the breakfast bar, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Are you alright? You're never up this early."

"Yeah," I nod. "I'm fine."

"You sure about that? Lena told me what happened last night."

"I'm fine, Owen," I insist. "Really."

"Alright," he purses his lips, shooting me a suspicious look. But I ignore it. I really am fine. I'm just... desperate. And trying to stop myself from having a mental breakdown.

"What time does Tyler usually wake up?" I ask.

"Like... seven. Why?"

"Seven?" I scowl. That's too early.

"Yeah, he goes to the gym. Why?"

"I'm waiting for him."

"He might be home," he shrugs. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"And he was drunk last night, right?"

"I think so," I nod. "At least, he was drinking."

"He's probably home, just sleeping."

"Okay," I let out a sigh of relief. I'm not wasting my time. He's here. I just need to wait it out.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to talk to him?" Owen asks.

"Definitely," I nod. "We need to talk."

"I'm not sure if he's ready."

"When will he be?"

It's been long enough. How can he still be so worked up by it? Doesn't he want to fix it like I do? I need answers. I'm going crazy.

"I don't know..." Owen hesitates. "This is Tyler. If anyone can overexaggerate, it's him."

"He's not exaggerating," I defend. "He's emotional. He's hurt."

Owen chuckles, shaking his head. I raise my eyebrows at him, questioning him on the disapproving look in his eyes. But he doesn't say anything negative. He gets up out of his chair, and walks down the hallway. I follow him with my eyes. He knocks on Tyler's door.

Shit.

"Yo, Tyler," he calls. "You up?"

"Yeah, man," he yells through the door. Owen opens it. I peek over his shoulder, curiously trying to see what he's doing, but simultaneously trying to hide.

Tyler isn't in his bed anymore. He's standing beside it, stuffing a pair of boxing gloves into his gym bag. He must've showered at some point last night, or earlier this morning- before I woke up. He looks clean, but his room still reeks of weed. At least he looks awake now. In fact, he doesn't even look angry

I want to touch him so bad. He's shirtless again, wearing those grey sweatpants I love. He looks so... sexy. But I need to stay away. I can't have inappropriate thoughts about someone who's mad at me. That won't help the situation at all.

His eyes meet mine, and I instantly duck behind Owen. I didn't want him to see me yet. I don't want him to get angry again. I want to talk normally. Like grown adults.

"I can see you, Sarah," he says.

Crap.

I peek around Owen once more, only to see Tyler glancing at me with a bored expression on his face. I want to hide again, but I can't anymore. Owen takes a step aside, exposing me completely. I smile hesitantly, averting my gaze away from Tyler.

"Hi," I mumble.

"You can come in," he says.

"Really?" I frown, surprised by his words. "I mean... Are you sure?

"Yes," he groans. Come in."

I take a small step into the room, but as soon as I do, I feel Owen stand behind me.

"Sarah's been waiting for you," he says.

"She has?" Tyler responds, keeping his eyes locked on me.

"Yeah, it's kind of pathetic," he teases me, shooting me a cheeky smile. I fake a glare, knowing he's joking. It's not pathetic to want to fix your mistakes. It's not pathetic to care for those around you.

"It's not pathetic," Tyler agrees with me. I give him a grateful smile, glad he understands my perspective. But he must've missed that it was a joke. Owen rolls his eyes at him, and walks past me back into the kitchen. Tyler continues packing his bag, adding a pair of sneakers.

"Are you going somewhere?" I ask.

"I have a match today," he says.

"A boxing match?"

"No, a tennis match," he rolls his eyes sarcastically. I laugh nervously, unsure how to react. I softly scratch my thigh, keeping my gaze glued to Tyer as he folds a pair of shorts.

"So..." I begin. "You look... uhm... better than you did yesterday."

"You think?" he snickers.

"Yeah, much more... awake."

"That's because I'm sober."

"Yeah..." I nod. "That's why I'm here."

"I underestimated you," he comments. "I thought you would've given up by now"

"I can't. I can't give up."

"Why not? I did."

"No, you didn't," I object, but it's more hopeful than certain. "We can fix this."

"Close the door."

Yes. This is good. He wants to talk. At least, he wants to be alone with me. That's a good sign, right?

I do as he says, and take a few more steps into the room. I have to walk around a pile of laundry, but his room is a lot cleaner than it was last time I was here.

Tyler zips his bag, and tosses it further onto his bed. We're still a few feet apart, but I can already smell him. The whole room smells like him. He turns towards me, letting out a deep sigh.

"I really fucking hate to admit this," he begins. "But you're right. I haven't fucking given up."

"You haven't?"

"No, Sarah. I'm fucking pissed at you. I fucking hate this emotional shit, but you..." he hesitates. "You really fucking hurt me."

"I know," I glance down. "And I'm so sorry you were upset by all this. I never meant to hurt you. That wasn't my intention."

"That just makes it worse," he scoffs. "I feel fucking guilty for being angry."

"Don't feel guilty. You should be angry. I never should've accused you like that. It was stupid."

"But you didn't mean to. You were anxious. That's part of anxiety, right? I did some research."

"But that's not an excuse."

"But you didn't mean what you said."

"That's doesn't make it okay. I said them, anyway."

"I'm not even mad at you! I'm mad that I-," he cuts himself off, avoiding my eyes.

"It's okay," I assure him. I move toward him, placing my hand over his bicep in attempt to comfort him. He doesn't pull away. To my surprise, he places his hand over mine, keeping it in place.

"I'm mad because I understand why you'd react that way," he swallows. "Just fucking look at me. I wouldn't trust me either."

"Tyler..." I hesitate. "I do trust you."

"But you fucking shouldn't. What the fuck have I ever done to show you otherwise?"

"Everything," I say. "You cared about me. You stood up for me. You protected me. You opened up to me, and that's... that's all I wanted. I wanted to know you, and I do."

"And you still want to be with me? After the shit I said to you... I didn't mean any of it. I'm fucking sorry, baby. I was just- just...," he turns away from me, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off his nightstand.

"You really shouldn't smoke in here," I comment.

"Yes," he groans. "I fucking know that."

"So, don't."

"I don't know what the fuck else to do!"

"I do," I respond.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

I take a confident step forward, placing my hand over his. I pry the packet out from between his fingers and toss it onto his bed. Then, I wrap my arms around his waist. I press my body against his, gripping onto his shirt.

He takes a moment to respond, but when he finally does, my skin begins to tingle. He embraces me, squeezing me against his chest. I inhale deeply, loving the sound of his heartbeat. He presses his lips against the top of my head, giving me a firm kiss.

This is it.

This is perfect.