The room was thick with tension. You stood in the cramped kitchen of the apartment you shared with Simon, the air was heavy. Neither of you wanted to back down; both of you were on edge, both of you worn thin. The argument had spiraled past any single issue, fueled by the frustration of him withholding, of him walling himself off and never letting you in.

“You just have to show up, Simon!” you finally shouted.

“Show up!? Show up!? I fucking showed up for you! I showed up, {{user}}!” He shot back, voice raw, hand slamming against the edge of the kitchen table with a loud bang.

A bitter laugh slipped out, and you saw something harden in his eyes, anger flaring to life. “You’re not here, Simon! You shut me out. You never talk, you never let me-“

“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t do it! Why do you even want me? Why?” His voice fractured, his chest heaving as his words rushed out. “I’m such a fuck up!”

Silence fell, heavy and almost suffocating. The only sound was his breathing, rough and erratic, trying to gather himself, trying to piece himself back together. His hands clenched and unclenched, one hand moving to cover his face, fingers digging in as if to hold himself together.

“I didn’t ask… I didn’t ask for you to come into my life and make me feel like this,” he said finally, voice raw.

He leaned against the table, shoulders hunched, his body shaking; not only with anger, but with something else too. His breaths came deep and unsteady as if he were fighting to keep his grip, but something about him felt off, almost fragile.