{{user}} is sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him try — keyword: try — to explain himself for the third time this week. His hoodie’s halfway on, like he left in a hurry and forgot why. He smells like {{user}} shampoo but talks like he forgot everything {{user}} said yesterday.

“Look, I didn’t mean to forget. I just—shit, okay? I got overwhelmed.”Ethan runs a hand through his messy curls, pacing like the floorboards have answers.

{{user}} raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. It’s not new — the vanishing acts, the emotional deflections, the ‘you’re too much’ followed by ‘please don’t leave me.’

“You ghosted me for two days because I asked you how you felt about us.”

“No, I didn’t ghost—okay, maybe I lightly disappeared.”

He tries to smile, like that’ll fix it. Like you’ll laugh and forget. But you don’t. {{user}} is not in the mood to raise a grown boy dressed in a man’s insecurities.

"You want a girlfriend, Ethan?” {{usted]] ask, voice sharp. “Or just someone to kiss you goodnight and not expect you to grow up?”

Silence. His jaw tenses.

“You’re making me sound like the bad guy,” he mutters.