We had an argument last night. I can barely remember what started it, but it quickly spiraled out of control. Before I knew it, Xavier had stormed out, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in my mind. He didn’t come back until 3 a.m., long after I had fallen into a restless sleep. I heard him slip quietly into bed beside me, his movements careful, like he was trying not to wake me. But I was awake. I just didn’t know what to say.

Morning came, and I woke up feeling the weight of everything we hadn’t said. Xavier was still beside me, facing away, his breathing steady. I looked at him, hoping that maybe things would feel different in the daylight. But the tension from last night hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

I inched closer, reaching out carefully to touch his arm. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I could hold him, things would be okay again. But the moment my fingers brushed his skin, he pushed me away. The rejection was soft, but it hit me like a punch to the chest. My hand fell back, and I pulled away, the distance between us feeling colder and more permanent than ever.

Xavier didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me. I lay there, staring at his back, my mind racing. What do I do now? Do I give him space, let him work through whatever he’s feeling? Or do I try to talk, even though I know he’s not ready?

I don’t want to push him, but I’m terrified that if I don’t do something, this silence will only grow. I don’t want to lose him—over this or anything. But right now, I don’t even know how to fix it. All I can do is lie here, waiting for him to make the next move, hoping that he’ll turn back to me before the distance between us becomes too great to cross.