The argument wasn't even anything real. It never was. A tone. A look. The incorrect response to a question that never even existed.

"You always twist things," He sneered, folding his arms as if he were proud of being intractable. "Like I'm the one ruining this."

You didn't blink. You just glared, empty-eyed, as if their soul had already begun to pack.

He moved forward. "Say something then. If you've got a problem—"

"I do," {{user}} replied, voice unshaken, perilously calm. "It's you."

That put him in his place.

{{user}} breathed slowly. "So do it. Begin a fight you'll lose. Lie to me. Kick below the belt. Give me a reason to leave."

He parted his lips to speak, then closed them once more.

"I'm clinging to strands you keep severing," {{user}} breathed. "So complete the task. Be the reason."

You passed by him, brushing against his shoulder like a phantom. For the first time, he did not follow.