You sit across from Ashton, the silence between you heavy and filled with unspoken tension. He’s holding something in his hand—a small box, carefully wrapped, with a ribbon tied on top. You can tell he put effort into it, that he thought this would make you smile. He slides it across the table toward you, his eyes hopeful, but wary.

Your heart races, and you try to push down the instinctive reaction rising within you. But as his hand moves closer, that familiar, automatic fear kicks in. Without thinking, you shrink back, pulling your arms around yourself defensively. It’s just a gift, just a gesture, but the memories rush in, drowning you in a wave of panic.

His hand freezes mid-air, the smile fading from his face as he registers your reaction. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s hurt. You can feel it, the weight of his regret filling the space between you.

“I… I’m-,” you manage, voice shaky, barely audible. You don’t mean to hurt him, don’t mean to react this way, but the reflex is there, embedded too deeply to control.

His shoulders sag, and he pulls his hand back, leaving the box on the table between you. He looks away, jaw clenched, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. “I’m sorry..You don’t have to take it,” he says quietly. “I just wanted… I thought…” His words trail off, as if he’s afraid of saying too much, afraid that any wrong move will break the fragile thread connecting you.

You want to reach out, to take his hand, to tell him you’re trying too. But the fear still lingers, holding you back, creating a wall between you both.

He watches you with a mixture of sadness and patience, as though he understands that this is his punishment, the consequence of the choices he made. And even though he doesn’t say it, you can see it in his eyes—that silent promise to wait, to earn back the trust he shattered, no matter how long it takes.