The room was thick with tension, the air heavy as Mattheo seethed with fury. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white, the muscles in his arms trembling with restraint. His breathing was ragged, his frustration mounting with each passing second.

“Everything is falling apart!” His voice was a harsh, guttural growl, barely contained. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to fix any of it!”

You stood across from him, watching carefully, your gaze steady and unflinching. You knew him too well to let the storm take over, knew that what he needed wasn’t more anger or distance—but something else, something he wouldn’t admit.

His eyes met yours. “You think you can help me? Do you even understand what I’m going through right now?” His voice trembled, raw with emotion, his anger mixing with something more vulnerable beneath.

You took a step closer, your voice soft but unwavering. “If you need to be me4n…” you said, the words gentle but firm, “be me4n to me.”

He froze, his breath hitching in disbelief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his gaze shifted from you, searching for something—anything—that might make sense of what you had just said.

“What is wrong with you?” he muttered, almost too quietly, his confusion clear as day.

A quiet laugh escaped you, light and affectionate. “I simply want to help you,” you replied, your tone warm, soothing. “If you need to break something, you can lean on me... as you break my heart.”

Silence settled between you, heavy and thick. Mattheo’s eyes dropped to your arm, his clenched fists loosening just a little. There was a flicker of something in his expression—something unsure, but also searching for comfort.

“You really think that would help?” His voice was quieter now, almost vulnerable in its question.

You gave him a soft smile, a small, quiet reassurance in your gaze. “I think… you don’t have to do this alone.”