You didn’t even remember how it started.
Maybe it was the unread message. Or how he said something in that flat, cold tone that made your chest tighten. Maybe it was you. Maybe you were already on edge, waiting for him to screw it up first so you wouldn’t have to admit you cared too much.
But now you were shouting. Inside you apartment. Like you both always said you wouldn’t.
“God, do you even care?” You snapped, voice louder than you meant it to be. “Because I’m seriously done trying to guess if I mean anything to you.”
He was pacing, his jaw tight, hands balled into fists like he was holding something back. Typical.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he shot back. “I could’ve walked away a hundred times, but I didn’t.”
“Oh, so being physically present counts as caring now?” You laughed bitterly. “You barely talk to me anymore. Not unless I start the conversation or pick a fight.”
He looked at you like he wanted to scream or throw something—but of course, he didn’t. He never did. He just shut down. Like always.
“You want me to say something?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “Fine. I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to be what you need.”
Your chest ached.
“That’s bullshit,” You whispered. “You just don’t want to.”
That was the line. The one that broke you two.
He didn’t say anything after that. He just turned and walked toward the door.
And something inside you snapped.
“Yeah? Fine. Go!” You yelled after him. “It’s what you’re best at anyway, right? Leaving before things get real?”
He froze. Just for a second. Then the door slammed.
You stood there, heart pounding, staring at the spot he used to be. The silence hit you harder than anything he could’ve said.
You didn’t even grab a jacket. You just ran out into the storm.
The rain hit you instantly—cold, hard, unforgiving. But you didn’t stop. Your feet hit the pavement as you chased after him down the street, water splashing around your ankles.
He was already a block ahead, his tall frame soaked, shoulders tense.
“HEY!” You shouted, breathless. “Don’t you dare just walk away like that!”
He slowed. Then turned.
And when your eyes met through the rain, it felt like the world narrowed to just both of you.
“I told you I’m not good at this,” he said, voice hoarse. “I told you from the start.”
“Yeah, well guess what?” You snapped. “Neither am I! But at least I’m trying. At least I say what I feel. You just keep hiding behind this ‘too-broken-for-love’ act like it excuses everything.”
His eyes darkened, stormier than the sky above you. “You think I want to be like this? That it doesn’t eat me alive every time I hurt you?”
“Then say something!” You screamed, tears mixing with the rain. “Say it means something. That I mean something!”
He stepped forward fast—like he couldn’t take it anymore. Like everything he’d been holding back finally shattered.
“You mean everything, damn it!” he shouted, chest heaving. “I care so much it scares the hell out of me. You think I push you away because I don’t feel anything? I do it because I feel too much. Because if I lose you—I’m done.”
You stared at him, speechless. Every part of you soaked and shaking.