You found him lying on the bed, one arm slung over his eyes like he was trying to block out the whole damn world.

At first, you thought he was just tired—until you stepped closer and noticed the way his chest was shaking, silent and slow. Tears glistening his eyes

He didn’t hear you come in. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

You sat on the edge of the bed, not saying a word. Not yet.

There had been an argument earlier. Nothing cruel—just heavy. One of those moments where the past crept in and neither of you had the right words to stop it.

After a while, he finally spoke—voice hoarse and barely there.

—“I don’t know how to be loved without screwin’ it up.”