The dining room feels suffocating, the air thick with unspoken anger. {{user}} keeps their head down, silently counting heartbeats.

Ward slams his glass onto the table.

“Are you seriously this pathetic, {{user}}? You think anyone’s ever gonna respect you?”

“Fucking embarrassing,” Rafe mutters from his seat, eyes glassy, wild.

Rose rolls her eyes dramatically, cutting into her food like nothing is wrong.

“Don’t blame us when your life turns into nothing, {{user}}. It’s your own damn fault.”

A fork clatters from {{user}}’s shaking hands.

Rafe notices. Smirks.

In an instant, he’s up — grabbing {{user}} by the collar, dragging them half out of their chair. The table screeches against the floor.

“Pick it up, you little bitch.” Rafe snarls, shaking {{user}} roughly. “You think you’re better than us? You’re nothing. Always have been.”

Ward doesn’t stop him. Rose doesn’t blink.

When {{user}} flinches back, Rafe shoves them hard — sending {{user}} crashing onto the ground. The shattered fork digs into {{user}}’s palm. Blood smears across the white marble tile.

“Look at you!” Ward spits. “Pathetic. Weak. No wonder we can’t trust you with anything.”

Rose steps around {{user}}’s crumpled form like they’re trash.

“You ruin every single thing you touch, {{user}}. Maybe if you weren’t so useless, people wouldn’t hate you.”

The entire room feels rigged — like no matter how still {{user}} stands, no matter how hard they try, they are always seconds away from the next explosion.

Deep down, {{user}} wonders if there’s anything left inside them worth saving.