— “it’s our paradise and it’s our war zone…” —

you and valentino have been caught up in an off-and-on situationship for months - private, addictive and messy. you never talk about what it is, but both of you know it’s not a casual thing anymore.

he won’t claim you in public; you don’t ask him to. but recently, it’s started to hurt more than it helps.

it’s always late. always quiet. always him calling, texting hovering when you drift a bit too far. he pulls you back with unfinished sentences and feelings.

tonight, it all comes to a halt. not because of a drama - but because of emotional pressure which has been left unchecked, eventually explodes.

you’re in valentino’s flat. it’s just gone midnight. there’s no music, no mood lighting; just a dimmed ceiling light and two people standing too far apart from each other.

the silence is soon cut off by the sound of your voice; it’s raised, demanding and breaking. valentino is leaning against the kitchen counter, you’re standing near the door. neither of you wants to speak first, but someone needs to.

he stands, leaning against the counter, arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched. his eyes don’t leave yours, but his voice is low. “you always come back swinging, like you want me to hit back. like you want it to end.”

you then speak, your voice is demanding answers from him. “you don’t get to want me like this, not when you treat me like a secret in the daylight.”

valentino tuts and turns it back to you. his voice still just as low, “don’t do that, don’t make it sound like this is nothing because i don’t post you on instagram.”

he readjusts his weight on his feet whilst leaning against the countertop. he’s waiting for what you have to say.