The silence after his words was deafening.

You had never fought like this before. Sure, you had disagreements—every couple did—but this… this was different. It wasn’t just frustration. It was heated. Ugly.

Drew stood across from you in your shared apartment, his jaw clenched, his hands in his hair like he was trying to keep himself together. His voice had been sharp the entire argument, but now—now it was rising, raw and loud as his patience finally snapped.

“God, do you ever just listen?!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

You flinched. Physically flinched.

It was barely noticeable—just a small jerk of your shoulders, a quick squeeze of your eyes shut—but he saw it. And the second he did, everything changed.

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his expression shifted from anger to something else entirely. Regret. Confusion. Heartbreak.

“Baby…” his voice broke, much quieter now.

You knew he’d never hurt you, not in a million years, but your body had reacted before your mind could catch up. It was instinct. And judging by the way Drew looked at you, like you had just shattered something inside him, it killed him.

He took a hesitant step forward, hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but was scared to. “Did I—have I ever made you feel like I’d—” He couldn’t even say it.

Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head quickly. “No, Drew. No, it’s not you, it’s just—” Your voice cracked, and you turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s just me.”

But he wasn’t having that.

“Don’t,” he said softly, finally closing the space between you. He didn’t touch you yet, just stood close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Don’t do that. Talk to me.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears. You hadn’t wanted him to see this part of you. The part that had been conditioned to fear raised voices, to brace for impact even when there was none.

Drew hesitated, then slowly, gently, reached for your hands. He gave you time to pull away. You didn’t.