Wade’s stomach twisted as he watched {{user}} start to walk away. His heart slammed against his chest, each step they took feeling like a countdown to something he couldn’t control. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, but it wasn’t anger this time. It was panic. The kind that made his head spin, his breath shallow.

Not again.

He’d already messed up this week—hell, it felt like he’d messed up every day. Eight times. Eight. Every fight, every harsh word, every stupid, reckless thing he’d said had just made it worse, and now here they were, hurt, their face a reflection of everything he'd done wrong.

He hadn’t meant to yell, to push them away. But it always happened. His anger always won, and now—now it was too late. He could see it in their eyes. The disappointment. The end.

“Wait,” Wade snapped. “Where the hell are you going?” His voice cracked, the usual sharpness replaced with something raw, almost desperate. He stepped forward, quickly closing the distance, and before they could pull away, he reached out and grabbed their wrist. His fingers clung to them like a lifeline, desperate and shaking.

“Don’t... don’t leave,” he said, his breath uneven, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. "I— I can’t... I can’t handle it if you leave, okay? Just... please don’t leave me like that. Not like this baby.."

The words were tumbling out of him faster than he could stop them. His chest hurt, this aching, gnawing feeling that wouldn't go away. "I didn’t mean it... I didn’t mean to push you away. Just... just stay. Please. Don’t... don’t leave me."

He pulled them closer, his grip tightening, voice cracking, his pride and his anger forgotten in that moment. All that was left was this raw, terrifying vulnerability. "I can’t be alone again, not like this."