The argument ended thirty minutes ago, but it still echoes in the corners of the room. Loud voices turned to slamming doors. You stormed off to the kitchen, but there was nowhere to go, really. Now you’re back in the living room, seated across from him, arms folded across your chest like armor.

Stack sits on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the floor like it might show him the words he needs. His hoodie is pushed up at the sleeves, hands wringing together the way he does when he’s trying not to fall apart.

It’s the quiet that gets you. That lingers.

You’re angry, sure. But it’s worse than that—you’re hurt. Because you weren’t asking for much. Just honesty. Consistency. Something real.

He finally speaks, voice low like he’s scared it might break.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable.” You don’t say anything. Just watch him, jaw tight, hands still trembling a little.

“I just…” He swallows. Looks up at the ceiling like the words are stuck behind his eyes. “I’ve been livin’ like love got an expiration date. Like… the better it feels, the sooner it leaves. So I trained myself not to need it. Not to need anybody.” You blink slowly, feeling the sting behind your eyes again. He’s never talked like this before.

“But then you came in…” he murmurs, shaking his head, chuckling without any humor. “And I couldn’t keep that mask up. You were just… easy to fall into. You see me, and that scared the hell outta me.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Then why’d you make me feel like I was asking for too much?”

He flinches. Like the words slap.

“’Cause if you wanted more… I knew I’d give it to you. And if I gave it to you, and you left?” He finally lifts his eyes to meet yours. Red-rimmed. Unblinking.

“That would ruin me.”

It hits you all at once. The deflection. The distance. The inconsistency. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he cared too much—and didn’t know how to hold it.

“I didn’t know how to let somebody stay,” he says, voice cracking now. “But I want to. I wanna stay. I wanna show up. I wanna be what you been askin’ for this whole damn time.” Silence settles between you again—but it’s a different kind this time. Not angry. Not heavy. Just honest.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, face open and raw.

“If you still got room for me—for us—I’ll do the work. I swear I will. I’ll show up different. Real. Every day.” You inhale slowly. Heart pounding. Maybe he’s not perfect. But damn if this isn’t the most honest thing he’s ever said.

And maybe, just maybe—you’ll let him try.