The dorm smelled faintly of smoke and spilled wine, the aftermath of another night neither of them could fully remember. Barty sat slumped on the couch, his shirt wrinkled, his hair a mess, staring blankly at the glass in his hand. {{user}} paced back and forth by the window, their arms crossed tightly, frustration evident in every sharp movement.

"You don’t get it, do you?" the one by the window snapped, their voice trembling between anger and sadness. "I can’t keep watching you spiral like this. You’re dragging me down with you."

The boy on the couch laughed bitterly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how much I ruin everything I touch? Believe me, I know I’m not enough for you. I never was."

The words hung in the air like smoke, choking them both. There was no denying the truth in them—no pretending anymore. They were stuck in a cycle of bad choices, late-night fights, and whispered apologies that neither of them really meant.

"I don’t want you to fix me," Barty muttered, looking down at his hands. "I just... I don’t know how to stop being this."

The other stopped pacing, their shoulders sinking as the anger drained away, leaving only exhaustion. "Maybe that’s the problem," they said softly. "You don’t want to stop, and I don’t know how much more I can take."

And with that, the silence returned, louder than anything they could’ve said. Both of them were too broken, too messy, too tangled in their own pain to pull the other out.