He stood with his back to her, his fingers tangled in his short, messy, dark blonde hair. "You've been gone a while now. It's like you left me. And I'll admit that it hurts me." He turned to face her, his right hand over his chest where he heart was. After a few moments of him not looking her in the eye, she stepped forward, to reassure him that she had been there the whole time.
Deftly his soft hands grasped hers, his pale blue eyes bore into her own. "Whenever you're not around, I feel like half of me is missing." She opened her mouth wordlessly, no sound coming out.
"I understand, you've other things to do, other people to care for." Now it seemed that his anger was rising. "But what about me, damnit? What am I supposed to do without you? I'm a mess when you're gone."

She looked at him apologetically. No words would aid her, nothing would she say to right this. He merely had to come to terms on his own, as he had every other time.
"My life lacks creativity when you're not here, right next to me." He began to advance on her, a menacing look in his eye. "I want you as mine forever."

She knew it would be futile to try to explain that she was his forever, his and his alone, so she didn't. She stood her ground, taking her hand back and waiting for the inevitable explosion, as it was every other time, her arms crossed over her chest.
Heaving a deep sigh from her chest, she held out her hands, her offering as apology. A small and unexpected smile crossed her lips, grinding on his nerves.

"What about this is funny? What if I dont want to take you back? Huh? What then?" She turned her head and rolled her eyes. He would take her back, he always did. He couldn't help it. He was addicted, addicted to what she gave him, the freedom, the power, and he didn't want to stop.
And he was right. Without her, he was nothing. And so he would take her back, he would use this fight to further himself, and then, when he needed it most, she would leave again.

She wanted to have her own life, she wanted to go out and meet other people. But he worried, as he always had, and he called her back, he dreamed of her, he wished for her, and when she came back, he used her, and pushed her away again.
Always it was the same with them. But it worked.

He walked slowly toward her, and held his arms out, to embrace her. Warily, she stepped into his arms and let them circle her. For a moment, she held onto this uncomfortable facade, and then, when she felt him begin to pull away, she circled her arms back around him and held him close.
As he needed her, she needed him. He was the only one that could see her full potential, use her to the full extent, and utilize her every offer.

She was his muse, and as a painter needs her, a writer needs her, a dreamer needs her, she needed him too.

And forever it would be, one needing the other, till the end of time.