You don't know how it happened.

You were just laying in his bed in the quiet hours of the night, as you usually did after a long day as one of the New Avengers.

You were cozy, comfortable being in his arms, feeling like you were home.

But suddenly, instead of pulling you closer like he usually did, he sat up straight, holding you at an arms length.

His normally warm, blue eyes looked guilt-ridden. Pained.

"Sweetheart," he whispers hoarsely, "we need to talk. I've been thinking and..." he exhales deeply while your heart pounds. It's hard for him to maintain eye contact when you're staring at him like he has a bomb in his hands.

Fearing you know what he's about to say, you try to speak. But he cuts you off.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending this is okay. I... I want to break up. We need to go back to... just being friends."

You try to argue, try to protest, try to make him see reason, but he won't budge. He almost grows angry at you for trying.