Behind closed doors I loved him in this disgusting way. I showed my affection for him in such strange ways, of which I could probably never repeat with anyone. Conventionality was never our thing, but I swear we were from another planet.

I used to draw doodles on the couch while he took a shit, then I would slip the piece of paper underneath the door while he was still handling his business. It was always unbelievably dumb sketches, like a cartoon version of myself eating a cheeseburger. I did this often enough that he started a collection.

I used to yell on the other side of the bathroom door to try to get him to let me in while he took a shit. We had this rule that the other one was never allowed inside during such activities. We had this mutual understanding that some things were sacred (like taking a shit) and we needed to respect that time/space. Still—I would try my hardest to convince him to open the door while he was still on the toilet.

“LET ME IN. I forgot my glasses in there.”
“NO YOU DIDN’T, THEY’RE ON YOUR FACE.”
“LET ME IN. I need some toothpaste!
“You’re not even brushing your teeth! STOPPP. JUST WAIT.”
“LET ME INSIDE!”

I’m fucking obnoxious. I told you. I think I’m hilarious though, personally.

Once in a while he would be in the bathroom and not realize that he would need to take a shit, leaving the door closed but unlocked. I don’t know why, but I would always turn the handle whenever he was inside. It was like magic when I caught the door unlocked. I would jiggle the door handle and he would prevent me from coming inside, like I was a zombie trying to get him. He has quick reflexes, so I could never actually get into the bathroom. The door would be locked in a second. I always enjoyed giving him grief and a minor panic attack during these moments.

I was evil and annoying, but thats how I loved him. It was (literally) shitty love.