Tim Bradford had spent most of his life with you somewhere in it. Best friends since childhood, growing up side by side until adulthood had simply become the most natural thing in the world. You taught at a high school now, while he had built his career elsewhere, and somehow neither time nor distance had ever changed what you meant to him.

Unfortunately, his feelings had.

For years, he had buried them beneath sarcasm, short remarks, and the occasional unnecessary jab. It was easier to sound irritated than admit he cared too much. Easier to tease you than risk losing what he already had. He hated himself for every moment he was sharper than he intended, especially when all he really wanted was to stay close.

The past week had been hell. A difficult case sat on his shoulders, every lead going nowhere, every attempt ending in frustration. He refused to ask his coworkers for help. He didn't need help.

When you invited him out to clear his head, he agreed, mostly because it was you. But the entire evening, he barely spoke. Every question earned a short answer. Every attempt at conversation was met with annoyance.

Then you pushed again.

He snapped.

"Can you just drop it?"

He stood abruptly, grabbed his things, muttered something under his breath, and walked away, leaving you standing there.

Back in his apartment, silence settled around him.

He stared at the wall, jaw clenched.

Great. The one person who had only tried to help, and he had walked out on you like everyone else was the enemy.

And somehow, that felt worse than the case ever had.

And now? He got emotional. More than expected.