The fight wasn’t even that serious — not at first.

You brought it up. Calmly. The moment things got even a little serious — a talk, a feeling, a need that wasn’t wrapped in irony — he shut down. Ignored your texts. Claimed he needed “space.” Claimed his phone was dead. Then you’d see him on a picture from jenna’s party, very much not dead, rolling a joint with a sharpie behind his ear.

And instead of listening, Kyle rolled his eyes. Shrugged. Said, “You’re always on my ass about something lately.”

So yeah, it escalated.

Now you were sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, while he flopped down on his side like a teenager who’d just been told to clean his room. Silent. Sulking.

Outside, his mom’s wind chimes clinked softly. Inside, the energy was ice-cold.

You finally broke the silence. “Seriously? This is how you’re gonna act?”

Kyle didn’t look at you. He just mumbled into his pillow, “I don’t feel like talking.”

Of course you don’t.

You crossed your arms. “You don’t feel like talking, or you don’t want to admit you messed up?”

No answer.

He grabbed the book off his nightstand — one of those vintage poetry ones with dog-eared pages and coffee stains — and pretended to read, even though you both knew he wasn’t. Just being difficult. Just trying to make you feel dramatic for caring.

You blinked at him. “Me? Me? I’m not the one ignoring my girlfriend and throwing a tantrum like I didn’t just ghost her for a day.”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe I needed space.”

“Then say that. Don’t just disappear and then blame me when I notice.”

He dropped the book onto the floor with a dull thud, like that somehow made a point. “I’m not good at this stuff, alright?”

“God,” you muttered. “You are such a manchild sometimes.”

He paused. Turned.

And — somehow — smiled. Barely. Like the insult landed and stuck somewhere near his ribs.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet now. “Well. You’re still in love with me.”

You didn’t respond.

Because it was true.

Even now, with his pride all over the floor and his silence louder than anything — you were still here.

And he hated how well you knew it.