“Well, if you meant to hurt me, then congratu-fucking-lations, because it worked,” he snapped, the words sharp and bitter as broken glass. His jaw tightened like he was barely holding himself together. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

“Oh, now you get it?” you fired back, the pressure in your chest finally cracking open. A million emotions collided all at once—anger, hurt, disbelief—and your hands curled into fists at your sides. “Now you suddenly understand how I’ve been feeling this whole time?”

You let out a frustrated laugh that sounded more like a choke. “Oh my God,” you groaned, stamping your foot without even meaning to, the heat of the moment overriding any sense of dignity. “You are unbelievable. Do you have any idea how frustrating you are?”

“Me?” His eyes widened, pure outrage flashing across his face. He gestured between the two of you like the answer was obvious. “You’re the one acting like you’re unavailable when you’re already in a relationship.”

“I am not in a relationship, Gerard,” you shot back, your voice shaking despite your best effort to keep it steady.

“Yes, you are!” he roared, stepping closer now, emotion bleeding through every word. “You’re in one with me.”

“We are not together,” you insisted, shaking your head hard, like you could physically reject the claim. “We never agreed to that. You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“Yes, we are!” he snapped back instantly, refusing to back down.

“I’m not yours,” you said, quieter now but no less firm. The words felt heavy, final—like drawing a line in the sand.

For a split second, he froze. Then his expression softened just a fraction, something raw and desperate slipping through the cracks of his anger.

“Well, I’m yours,” he said, his voice lower, steadier, like he’d already accepted it as truth. “Whether you want to admit it or not. I’m yours, {{user}}.”