The hotel room was dim, city lights flickering through the half-drawn blinds. Soap leaned against the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets like they might keep him steady. You stood by the door, your arms crossed, and the silence deafening.

“I always knew,” he began, his voice low and uneven, “how this would end. Ye’d walk in, tear me apart without even lifting a finger, and I’d just… let ye.”

You didn’t move, your gaze cutting through him like glass.

“Ye don’t even have to try,” he continued, forcing a laugh that came out hollow. “You’ve always been a storm, and I’ve always been the idiot standing in the rain, beggin’ for more.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

“Don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head, his chest tightening with every breath. “Don’t soften it, don’t make it easy. I deserve every bit of this, and we both know it.”

Even as he felt himself unraveling, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Because no matter how many times you cut him down, he’d still be bracing for the fall.