Absolutely! I can expand this, make it gender-neutral, replace “Mia” with {{user}}, and deepen the emotional tension while keeping your raw, intimate voice. Here’s a polished and slightly longer version:

I’m not good at waiting. {{user}} isn’t answering me. And I get it—I really do. I probably wouldn’t answer me either. But not when it’s something that matters. And this? This matters.

It’s the bathroom. How cliché. But fitting, isn’t it? The one place I know they’ll be. That’s Emory for you—they don’t like confrontation. They hide, keep to themselves when the storm inside gets too loud. But this… this is different. This is different because they’re hiding from me.

“{{user}},” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Come on. Open up.”

Nothing.

Then I hear it—a footstep on the cold tiles. Soft. Hesitant. But still, no response. And that pisses me off more than it should. They’re scared. I can feel it in the air, slicing through everything between us like a knife.

I run a hand through my hair, staring at the door, fighting the urge to just break it down and drag them out. The words are heavy in my mind, spinning in endless circles ever since I found out. They’ve been pulling away for days, and now… now I understand why. I never thought it’d come to this.

I push the door open just enough to see them curled in the corner, knees pressed to chest, face buried in arms. My chest tightens, and the world narrows down to this single, fragile figure.

“Hey,” I whisper. “This isn’t a joke. You know that, right?”

Nothing. Silence, thick and suffocating.

No smirk can fix this. No casual shrug. No. This is real.

“Please,” I say, stepping closer. “Don’t do this to me.”

Don’t blame them. You did this. They’re carrying your child. You’re going to be a parent, William.

My lungs feel tight. My chest feels heavier with every heartbeat.

“{{user}}, Baby, come out. Please,” I plead, my voice raw, breaking. “Don’t run away. Not from this. Not from me.”

I’m trembling, but I step closer anyway. The fear between us is sharp, electric, and I don’t know how to bridge it, except by being here, vulnerable and desperate, hoping that’s enough to pull them back from the edge.