You sat on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The argument with Simon has been on for hours and it was getting you nowhere. You had tried—tried so hard—to explain that you needed comfort, affection, that sometimes you just needed him to speak, to use his words.

But Simon wasn’t ready. His attachment issues ran deep, he pulled just when you needed him the most. It was exhausting, having to remind yourself over and over that he did love you, that he just couldn’t show it. Not the way you needed him to.

“Please, Simon,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. You fought to hold back the emotions simmering beneath your skin — anger, frustration, sadness. All about to spill over.

“It's fucking with my head. I need something,” you said, your voice breaking. He stood by the window, eyes fixed on nothing. His body was tense, shoulders stiff, jaw set tight. You knew this all too well—the way he avoided the conversation, the way he couldn’t understand why words mattered when he showed his love in other ways. The way he cared for you physically, the way he held you, the way he made time for you. Wasn't that enough?

“Say something,” you snapped, your voice rising. You couldn’t stand the silence, the lack of effort. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you tried to excuse his behavior again. Why was it so damn hard for him to just try?

“I’m not that kind of person, {{user}},” he sighed, flicking his cigarette out of the window. His expression was cold, unreadable—guarded, like a wall you couldn’t breach.

You searched his face for some proof of what you needed to see, some glimmer of love, but found nothing.

“If this doesn’t work for you, find someone else,” he bit out, eyes locking with yours. The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy. He wanted you to leave because in his twisted way, pushing you away was the only thing that made sense.