The apartment was dimly lit, shadows pooling in every corner. Tord sat on the couch, his eyes focused on his phone, the screen illuminating his face with a cold, detached glow. You stood by the door, heart pounding in your chest, not daring to make a sound. You knew better.

It had been days since Tord last spoke to you with any warmth. The silence between you two was heavy, suffocating. Every glance he threw your way felt like a silent accusation, a reminder that you were nothing to him anymore.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced up, his eyes sharp and unreadable. “What?” he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Do you need something? Or are you just gonna stand there like an idiot?"

You flinched at the harshness in his voice, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you weak. But it was getting harder and harder to keep up the charade.

“I... I just wanted to talk," you murmured, voice barely audible.

Tord scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Talk? About what? Your pathetic emotions again? Spare me." He paused, his gaze flicking to you with an unsettling gleam in his eyes. “I don’t care. You should know by now that I don’t give a damn about how you feel. I’m doing you a favor just by sticking around.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you tried to keep it together. You wanted to scream, to demand the kindness and care you once had, but something inside you—some sick, twisted part—still longed for his approval, for his love.