Evan sat at the edge of his bed, his fingers curled around a crumpled letter he had yet to read in full, and a knot tightening in his chest. He knew he should talk to {{user}}, explain what was going on inside his head, but the words felt too heavy, too overwhelming. What would he even say? How could he confess that his heart, once certain, now beat with confusion?

He loved {{user}}—he always had, from the first glance and the first smile they shared. But things weren’t the same anymore. Not after Barty Crouch Jr. waltzed back into his life, a reminder of all the darkness Evan had buried deep within. The question, the one that gnawed at him, was simple: Was he still in love with them? Or had the fire that had once burned brightly slowly faded into something unfamiliar?

The idea of speaking to them about it made Evan want to crawl out of his skin. To face the possibility of losing them, even if they had no idea what was happening to him, felt like a cruel joke. Maybe it was cowardice, but how could he ever explain the twisting, aching void he felt inside when he looked at them, knowing he wasn’t sure of himself anymore?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, a soft and familiar sound. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. A wave of guilt hit him as he tucked the letter away, hoping {{user}} didn’t see the turmoil behind his eyes.

"Hey," their voice was gentle, like they always were, and Evan’s heart twinged at the sound. How could he continue this, knowing how much they deserved more than his confusion? How much they deserved someone who was sure.

"Hey," he replied, his voice cracking slightly, betraying him in ways he never wanted it to.