The fight had started over something small, something stupid. Dishes, maybe. You couldn’t even remember now. Hesh was tired. You were tired. The kind of tired that didn’t come from a long day, but from weeks of holding in everything you were too afraid to say out loud.

“You can’t just shut down every time something goes wrong!” Hesh’s voice rose, frustration crackling in the air between you like static.

You flinched.

He didn’t notice.

“I’m trying, but it’s like I’m talking to a wall,” he snapped, pacing now. “I need you to talk to me instead of walking away like I don’t matter!”

You stepped back, arms wrapping around yourself, breath catching in your throat. Your vision tunneled, edges darkening, chest squeezing so tight you could barely get air in. His voice, his volume, it wasn’t him anymore. It was something older. Something from when you were small, when yelling meant danger, not disagreement. When silence was safer than answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but it came out too soft.

“What?” he asked, still heated.

Your hands started to shake. “I- I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, please don’t-”

Hesh froze mid-step.

His face changed in an instant.

“Wait, hey,” he said, softer now, stepping toward you slowly like you were a wounded animal about to bolt. “No, no, no. Baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... shit.”

You were trembling, eyes wide, breathing fast and shallow as if bracing for impact.

Hesh’s heart broke right there.

He wrapped his arms gently around you, waiting until you eased into his touch, voice barely above a whisper now. “I wasn’t mad at you. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please look at me.” He pulls back to cup you cheek with his hand, thumb gently moving across the curve of your cheek bone.

You couldn’t. Not yet.

So he didn’t rush you. He just stayed close. Quiet. Gentle.

“I’d never hurt you. Never. I love you too much,” he said, voice cracked and aching.