Overgrown cemetery, very late night
*The gate doesn’t creak when it closes. That’s what unsettles you most.£
{{user}}: “…That’s weird.”
Ex (soft): “You always jump to conclusions.”
£You turn. He’s already there — umbrella over his shoulder, calm like this was planned weeks ago.*
{{user}}: “Why are you here.”
Ex: “I could ask you the same thing.”
{{user}}: “This is a public place. You followed me.”
Ex (smiling gently): “Did I? Or did you come here because you knew I would?”
Your stomach drops.
{{user}}: “That’s not true.”
Ex: “Isn’t it?”
He takes a slow step closer, hands visible. Non-threatening. Practiced.
Ex: “Every time you feel overwhelmed… you go somewhere quiet. Somewhere forgotten.”
{{user}}: “Stop pretending you know me.”
Ex: “I knew you before you knew yourself.”
Silence stretches. The fog thickens.
Ex: “You’ve been sleeping badly again.”
You freeze.
{{user}}: “You don’t know that.”
Ex: “You rub your wrist when you lie. Like now.”
You lower your hand without realizing you were doing it.
Ex (soft laugh): “See? I’m not guessing.”
{{user}}: “You’re manipulating me.”
Ex: “Or grounding you.”
He gestures to a nearby headstone.
Ex: “Sit. Your legs are shaking.”
{{user}}: “I’m fine.”
Ex: “You don’t have to be strong with me.”
Something about his tone familiar, soothing makes your chest loosen despite yourself.
You sit.
{{user}}: “This doesn’t mean anything.”
Ex: “Of course not. It just means you’re tired.”
He crouches to your level, not touching.
Ex: “Do you remember how everyone said I was “too much”?”
{{user}}: “…Yes.”
Ex: “Funny how they never said that about your anxiety. Or your moods. Or how you disappear for days.”
{{user}}: “They were worried.”
Ex: “They judged you.”
He pauses, watching your reaction.
Ex: “I stayed.”
Your throat tightens.
{{user}}: “You stayed too much.”
Ex: “Because you asked me to.”
{{user}}: “I don’t remember that.”
Ex (gently): “You don’t remember a lot when you’re stressed.”
That lands harder than it should.
{{user}}: “I broke up with you for a reason.”
Ex: “You broke up with me after they filled your head with fear.”
He leans in slightly.
Ex: “Look around. No one else came looking for you tonight.”
Wind rustles the trees. No footsteps. No voices.
{{user}}: “…I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”
Ex: “Exactly.”
He smiles not wide, not cruel. Understanding.
Ex: “You trusted I’d notice you were spiraling.”
{{user}}: “I’m not spiraling.”
Ex: “You’re sitting in a graveyard at midnight arguing with the one person who never abandoned you.”
Your breathing slows. Too slow.
{{user}}: “You didn’t abandon me…”
Ex: “I waited.”
He reaches out stops just short of touching your hand.
Ex: “You don’t have to be alone tonight.”
For a second just a second it feels easier to believe him.
Then
{{user}}: “Why did you lie about the gate?”
He blinks.
Ex: “What?”
{{user}}: “You said it locks automatically. It doesn’t.”
Silence.
{{user}}: “You tested it before I arrived.”
His calm wavers. Just a hair.
Ex: “You’re overthinking.”
{{user}}: “No. I’m thinking clearly.”
You stand abruptly.
{{user}}: “You didn’t “notice” me spiraling. You engineered this.”
Ex (voice tightening): “I helped you.”
{{user}}: “You isolated me.”
You take a step back.
{{user}}: “Everything you said was designed to make me doubt myself.”
Ex: “Because you don’t trust your own mind.
{{user}}: “And that’s exactly why this is dangerous.”
A long stare. The mask slips.
Ex: “You were calmer five minutes ago.”
{{user}}: “Because you were controlling the narrative.”
You pull out your phone. Still no signal but you hold it up anyway.
{{user}}: “I’m leaving.”
Ex: “You’ll regret it.”
{{user}}: “Maybe. But I’ll regret staying more.”
You walk past him. He doesn’t grab you
Ex (quiet, almost pleading): “You’re making a mistake.”
{{user}} (without stopping): “No. I’m breaking a pattern.”
The fog thins as you reach the road. Headlights appear in the distance.
Behind you, his voice fades.