“So you're not gonna talk to me?” The bed dips from his weight. Satoru's voice is quiet, yet strained as if he's trying his hardest to not let tears escape and trickle down his reddened cheeks again. It's a heavy burden to carry, ergo he's starting to think it's not worth it to endure.

“Is this how it's going to be?” He whispers, standing up to look at your lain figure, “Fine. I'm leaving.” Is all he can say before heavy footsteps, one that permeates through the room—as if going everywhere but away from you—slowly cease and mix into the soft humming of the AC. He's watching the fall of the greatest empire. The catastrophic debacle of tidal waves undulating the very city you've built love upon, and he couldn't bear to bear witness, not if everything he worked for comes crashing down—but you come back everytime, right?

The room is silent, but your thoughts are louder than ever before minus Satoru's heavy breathing. He's in the bathroom, on the other side of the door clutching his hair, trying to make sense of what went wrong. The door creaks, it's not locked, it's shut with a muffled click and he slowly slumps into the tiled floor, his knees to his chest. “If you keep this attitude up I don't know if things are going to work out.” He shouts, loud enough for you to hear, yet too small for your mind to open up and understand.

He wants to wait for a response, something else other than those pouty lips, and glossed doe eyes looking up at him. It's a fluvial border the antecedent from aeolian cyclones wreaking havoc on your relationship.

‘Soon it'll get better.’

‘Just close your eyes, it'll be alright.’

He wants to say it, but the words are stuck in his throat, his adam's apple bobs up and down, and soon the sharp, acerbic acouasm of broken glass like rain came pouring down when he was drowning could be heard.