The fight had unraveled slowly, like a thread neither of them knew how to stop pulling. It started when Chris had been distant for days, too caught up in his own world to notice how {{user}} was struggling with everything happening around her. When she finally confronted him, the words spilled out too quickly, a mix of hurt and frustration.

“I can’t keep doing this, Chris,” {{user}} said, her voice tight. “You’re not here when I need you. It’s like you’re shutting me out, and I don’t know why.”

Chris stood there, silent. His bright blue eyes locked on her, unblinking, intense.

She waited for a response, another excuse, another deflection—but he said nothing.

His eyes shimmered, catching the light just enough for her to see it—the sudden wetness gathering at the edges. His chest rose and fell once, sharply, and then a tear slipped down.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been… I’ve been struggling too, but I don’t know how to ask for help. I don’t know how to be what you need me to be.”

His voice cracked at the end, and he looked away for the first time—like even his own words were too heavy to hold.