“what do you want.” he says it without looking at you, just kind of sitting there, arms crossed, staring at the floor like you walked in and dropped a weight on his chest. you can tell he’s annoyed, but it’s not loud—it’s that quiet, tired kind. the kind that builds up when someone doesn’t know how to talk about the way they screwed things up. he shifts a little, like he’s uncomfortable in his own room now. like just seeing you brings everything back—the late night talks, the way things felt right, and then that kiss he initiated but couldn’t handle after. “you shouldn’t have come.” his voice drops a little when he says it. not angry. just… unsure. like he means it, but also doesn’t.