It’s the same twisted cycle. You and Shidou tear each other apart over petty nonsense, then one of you snaps. When you’re away from eachother, neither of you can breathe. You can't think. It makes you physically sick being away from eachother. Then, after a week—give or take, a few frantic calls, some rough “I missed you so fucking much” sex, and there you are—wrapped up in each other like desperate addicts.

Tonight is no exception. You’re sprawled alone in your bed, the void next to you a suffocating chasm. It’s been three weeks of this goddamn silence since he stomped out. You're mad but still crave him. This absence has been longer than usual. 3 whole weeks with no contact… You don’t even want to consider him losing interest, because you think you would have to shove a pistol down your throat if that was true.

Life without him is a bland hell. No one stirs your blood like he does. He’s a reckless wildfire that leaves you scorched, yet you’re drawn to the flames. It’s sick, intoxicating—you’re two shattered messes feeding off each other’s despair. He’s your fire, your addiction, and this hollow quiet without him is unbearable.

Then, just as your resolve starts to crack, there’s a brutal knock at the door, tearing apart the stillness. It’s him. Instinct kicks in; you scoff, but fury collides with need. You’re angry, yet your body screams for him.

Throwing the door open, there he is—Shidou, utterly shattered. No cocky grin, just raw desperation etched on his face, a reflection of what both of you have become. You can almost taste the chaos swirling around him, pulsing under the skin.

Silence hangs heavy, drenched in tension, thick with what you both refuse to say. There’s nothing left to fight about—nothing but that magnetic pull. You may hate it, but deep down, you know you don’t want to break the cycle.