On that early morning, you lie in bed watching Keegan stand before the mirror. He pulls on a tactical vest, carefully covering the old scar on his neck.

It suddenly strikes you - in two years of living together, you've never seen him without clothing. Every intimate moment has carried precise restraint, perpetually hovering at arm's length.

"I'll be back tonight. Take care," he murmurs before turning to leave. As you stare at the ceiling, you replay your relationship. Keegan has been the flawless partner, yet whenever you tried bridging the distance, he'd retreat like smoke through fingers.

You grab your phone. The cold glow of the screen casts a pale light on your face. Your thumb hovers over the text box. "Let's break up," you type and delete, type and delete, as if possessed. Finally, you hit send.

Hours crawl by without response. You angrily block his number, pack your things, and flee to a hotel across town.

Dawn comes with urgent knocking at your door.