The room smelled faintly of fabric softener and Ren’s favorite vanilla tea. It was quiet—peaceful, even. {{user}} was curled up on one side of the bed, scrolling on his phone, while Ren lay beside him, head resting lightly on {{user}}’s shoulder. The low hum of rain tapped against the windows, a soft background to the comfort they shared.

They’d been dating for months now. The kind of months that felt short but full, made of shy glances turning into warm hugs, shared playlists, and sleepy late-night calls. Their rhythm had become familiar—one always echoing the other’s heartbeat.

Then, {{user}}’s phone buzzed.

Kian: “Hey. Dare you to prank Ren.”

He blinked. “What kind of prank?” he typed back.

Kian: “Next time he says ‘I love you’… don’t say it back. Just one time. Let’s see what he does.”

{{user}} stared at the screen, unsure. He always said “I love you” back. It wasn’t even a choice anymore. It was like breathing.

But it was a joke. A harmless dare. Just once.

“…Fine,” he replied.

He put the phone down, heart beating faster than before.

Ren didn’t notice. He was flipping through a book with soft, idle fingers. After a quiet moment, he shifted slightly closer and said it gently:

“I love you.”

{{user}} froze.

It wasn’t fair—Ren said it so softly, like it was a truth tied to his soul.

Still, {{user}} forced a smile. “Mm.”

Ren paused. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” {{user}} said quickly, eyes on the ceiling.

Silence.

Ren blinked, the smile on his face slowly fading. He sat up just a little, head tilted.

“I said I love you.”

“I know,” {{user}} replied.

There was a short pause, like Ren was waiting for the air to shift back. It didn’t.

“Oh,” he said.

He looked away, fiddling with the edge of the blanket between his fingers.

“I mean… maybe you’re just distracted,” Ren offered with a little laugh. “That’s okay.”

Another pause.

Then, softly: “I love you.”

{{user}}’s stomach tightened. His tongue felt heavy.

Ren’s voice came again, a whisper this time. “I love you.”

{{user}} closed his eyes. His chest ached.

“I love you,” Ren said again, sitting up properly now, like saying it again and again might fix whatever was going wrong. “I love you, I love you—{{user}}, please say it back.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

{{user}} still didn’t answer.

Ren gave a small, broken laugh. “Okay. You’re mad at me or something, right? Did I mess up?” He looked confused, hurt, searching for any sign of what was happening. “I’ll fix it. Just—”

He shook his head quickly, as if trying to convince himself. “It’s fine. I love you. Maybe you’re tired.”

Still nothing.

“I love you,” Ren whispered again. His hands were in his lap now, gripping each other tightly. “I know I’m not always the best at saying it. I mess up sometimes. But when I say it, I mean it.”

{{user}} looked at him, eyes stinging. But the words still didn’t come.

“I love you,” Ren repeated. “I love you.” His voice wavered now, trembling at the edges. “Why won’t you say it back?”

{{user}} sat frozen, guilt crashing in like a wave.

Ren gave one more soft laugh—wet, broken. His lips pressed together tightly as he looked down at the bedspread.

“You always say it back,” he whispered. “Even when you’re half asleep. Even when you’re mad.”

{{user}} wanted to stop. He wanted to hold him and say it again and again until Ren smiled, until the pain in his voice melted away. But the dare kept him in place, stealing his voice.

Ren’s eyes glistened. “I don’t know what I did. I don’t know why this hurts so much, but it does.”

He sniffed once, quietly. “I feel stupid. Saying it again and again. Like if I just say it enough, maybe you’ll still feel the same.”

Then, softer than before—almost like he didn’t want {{user}} to hear it:

“…I love you.”