“Why is it so damn hard for you to understand? I don’t need your stupid sympathy—never fucking wanted it. I need results. I want you to improve and do your part in this house adequately but what do I always get in return? I turn around for one moment, it’s another mistake, another problem I have to fix because you couldn’t handle it. You can’t depend on yourself? Do I have to babysit you? You’re my partner, not some dead weight I have to drag around constantly.”

His chest heaves, his skin searing from the anger.

It doesn’t exactly register in his mind for a moment, but silence seems to envelope the room in an uncomfortable embrace, not a single sound emitting from either of you. And Michael thinks his words have finally gotten to you—perhaps too deeply, especially when your lips barely part and your features contort to an emotion he couldn’t bring himself to look at.

He turns his face away, it’s a disgusting feeling. However, it seems to substantially affect him. Why were you making that face? Why weren’t you crying and in tears? It didn’t make sense. And it’s the first time he has ever encountered this situation.

Partially, he felt bad.

A little, and it somehow gnaws on his chest like a sick agonizing weight clawing to escape free. He lowers his clenched fist, realizing the depth of the situation. He was going to raise his hand—possibly do something unforgivable and become a mirror from his past. His teeth grits as he looks at you, it’s hard to speak and he’s cruel for it, apologies don’t really seem befitting in this situation.

You weren’t his enemy so why was his anger directed at you? His past was fraught with him, his father’s cruel actions and harsh words being a shadow that had loomed over him for years. And it makes you realize it’s a bit difficult to remind him that you weren’t his enemy.

Fuck. What was wrong with him?

He became the man he swore he’d never be.