You and Kenny were arguing again—voices low but sharp, words cutting deeper than either of you wanted to admit. It wasn’t even about one thing anymore, just everything he never explained and all the times he disappeared without warning. Kenny stood there with his usual crooked half-smile, trying to joke his way through it, but it didn’t work this time. You told him you were done with the lies, done with waiting, done with not knowing where you stood with him.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. No sarcasm, no escape plan—just silence. Then his expression changed, like something in him finally cracked, and he muttered that maybe you were right, that he always ruins the things he actually cares about. The confidence was gone, replaced with something quieter and more real, like guilt he’d been carrying too long.

You expected him to walk away like he always did. Instead, he stepped closer, voice low, almost unsteady, admitting he didn’t know how to be better, but he didn’t want to lose you either. The space between you didn’t feel angry anymore—just heavy, charged, unsure. And when neither of you could hold that tension any longer, the line between making up and making out disappeared completely.