The apartment was silent, except for the sound of rain tapping against the window. The air felt heavy, filled with everything neither of you said.

Mico sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his temples with a tired expression. He wasn’t angry. There were no fights, no shouting this time. Just the same exhaustion as always.

“Why do we keep doing this?” His voice was quiet, almost resigned. He didn’t look at you when he said it, as if the answer was too obvious to need to see it on your face.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.” But you did.

He let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the couch. “We don’t even love each other anymore.”

It hurt to hear it out loud, but you didn’t deny it. Because it was true. Because the love that once held you together didn’t exist anymore.

And yet, here you were.

Mico ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Are we going to end this?”

Silence.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t want to, because you knew he didn’t want to say yes, either.

Because even when love had faded, the fear of being alone still kept you tied together.

You stepped closer to him without answering, and when you cupped his face in your hands, he didn’t pull away. Because this was all that was left between you: a habit disguised as a need.

Your lips met his, and he kissed you back with the same quiet desperation. As if with every touch, you could forget that everything was broken. As if, for a moment, you could pretend you still meant something to each other.