The dimly lit common room was silent, save for the sound of her muffled sobs. She sat on the worn leather couch, knees tucked to her chest, face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook as the weight of it all poured out—the lies, the secrets, the constant feeling of not being enough. Theo knelt in front of her, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her tear-streaked face. He wasn’t saying anything, just wiping away the endless stream of tears with the edge of his sleeve, his own expression unreadable.

“You don’t even care, do you?” she choked out, her voice breaking. “You never say it. You never—” She stopped, shaking her head. “And you cheat. Over and over again. Do you even love me, Theo?”

He flinched, barely, but enough for her to notice. His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his stormy green eyes—regret, guilt, something she couldn’t quite name. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He didn’t answer, just kept brushing her tears away, his movements gentle but frustratingly silent.

“Theo, say something,” she whispered, her voice raw and desperate. “Anything.”

He opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say it, wanted to explain that the thought of losing her scared him more than anything else, that he loved her in ways he didn’t know how to articulate. But the words wouldn’t come. They never did.

Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His breath smelled faintly of firewhisky—he was always more open when he drank—but even now, he couldn’t give her what she needed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible.