It's not the same anymore. The plate in front of him at the dinner table is no longer appetizing, the static noise of the television no longer irritates him, and the space beside him on the bed has turned cold. Collapsing, like an unstable bridge—that's what defines your relationship.

Scaramouche heaves a sigh, convincing himself that he doesn't need you and that he's better off without you. After all, it's not worth fighting for anymore.