the rain hammered against the panoramic windows of greyson's penthouse, mirroring the tempest brewing inside. {{user}},arms crossed, paced the length of the plush, persian rug. "two years, greyson. two years of… this." she gestured vaguely around the opulent living room, the city lights of london blurring through the downpour. "i'm not some… some fling."

greyson leaned against the marble countertop of his open kitchen, his usually sharp, brown eyes shadowed. "{{user}}, we've had this conversation. i've told you, my life is…"

"your life is an excuse," she cut him off, her voice rising. "your life is a million restaurants and a thousand distractions. but what about me? what about us?"

he sighed, running a tattooed hand through his slicked-back dark hair. "love, you know i care for you." the british lilt, usually a soothing balm, was edged with frustration. "you know i spoil you. i provide for you."

"i don't want to be provided for," she snapped. "i want… i want a future. i want a commitment."

he pushed himself off the counter, his muscular frame filling the space between them. "{{user}}, you know how i am. i've always been honest about this."

"honest about what? about never wanting to settle down? about never wanting more than… this?" she gestured again, a wave of her hand encompassing the expensive furniture, the breathtaking view, and the unspoken tension between them. "i'm not asking for the moon, greyson. just… a little bit of you."

"i give you all i can," he said, his voice low.

"no, you give me what's convenient," she retorted. "you give me the scraps of your time, the leftovers of your attention. i'm tired of it."

he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "don't say that."