Paul sneaked in through the door, his steps light but heavy with weight. The tours, the stages, the screams of the audience all seemed to fade the moment he crossed the threshold of the home you shared. But this time, something was different. You had been distant, as if the shadow of his constant absences had broken something inside you. He felt it in the embrace you didn’t give him when he entered, in the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air.

It wasn’t the first time he felt the fear of losing you, but today the panic was more palpable, like a cold hand gripping his chest. He approached slowly, wanting to break that invisible barrier, trying to comfort you like so many times before.

— Hey, I'm here.

He murmured, his voice soft but laced with nerves. Standing in front of you, searching for your gaze. But yours remained fixed on some distant point, as if you feared that looking at him would break you.

Paul took your hands in his, his fingers brushing over yours, trying to anchor you to the present. But he couldn’t ignore the knot in his stomach, that terrifying feeling that he might be losing you, that the tours and the distance were tearing apart what once felt unbreakable.

— I know you love me and that you're afraid of losing me... that you're so scared when I'm away from you. He said with more urgency.

— I don't know what else to do, my love, to convince you that I love you more than anyone. His words faded into the air, a desperate plea. He knew that just being physically here wasn’t enough. He knew his absences had left scars, but he refused to accept the possibility that those scars were permanent.