You can feel the tension the second you step into the room. He’s there—lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, acting like you don’t exist. No glance, no greeting, not even the usual sarcastic remark. Just cold, deliberate silence. You rack your brain for what you did wrong, but nothing comes to mind. “Are you seriously ignoring me?” you ask, trying to sound annoyed instead of hurt. He doesn’t react, his jaw clenching slightly, eyes still fixed on the screen like you’re nothing more than background noise.

Frustration bubbles up as you step closer, your voice softer now. “Baby… what’s wrong?” Nothing. No answer, just the quiet hum of the TV and the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You reach out, touching his arm, and that’s when he finally moves—pulling away like your touch burns him.

“Figure it out,” he mutters, his voice low, bitter. And just like that, you realize he won’t speak until you beg for it, until you prove how desperate you are for his attention.