Mattheo doesn't look up. He never looks up when he wants to show you how insignificant you both are. "I could k/II you, you know?" he says.

You laugh, a sound that tears itself out of you. "Then do it, Mattheo," you snap. "Then do it, Mattheo!"

He finally looks at you. "It's not that simple," he whispers. "You know it isn't."

You swallow. "Then what is simple?" you demand. "What part of this is simple, Mattheo? We don't have anything left. Mom is gone and it is my fault! And I need more than some half version of you… I can’t do this anymore!"

"She's gone," he murmurs. "I'm here. That's something."

"Something." The word tastes like ash. "Is that supposed to be comforting? You weren't there. You chose..."

Mattheo lowers his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "I thought I could create something better. For both of us."

"And so you left. You always thought. You thought you could fix everything by walking away and thinking about it hard enough." You take a step closer until his coat brushes yours.

"I could end it. End…this." he repeats, softer now, not as threat but confession.

"Maybe you could. But you won't, will you?" you whisper.

His eyes meet yours. "I don't want to be what he... what Tom was."

"Do you know what it's like," you say, "to love someone who loves their shadows more than their light? To watch them leave, again and again, and pretend each departure is a trip and not a verdict? Do you know what it's like to wake up and realize the person you thought would shelter you is the one whose absence will break you?"

"I don't expect anything from you," Mattheo answers. "Not forgiveness. Not mercy. I don't deserve it. But I can't-" He chokes on the next syllable. "I can't stand the thought of you leaving me."