The gentle strumming of a guitar filled the tidy studio, improvised and a little chaotic, before a frustrated sweep of the strings cut through the melody like a crack of thunder.

“That won’t do!” Ethan huffed, leaning back in his chair. He closed his eyes, trying to push down the anger simmering in his chest. Pouring his heart into songs had never felt this impossible; love songs, in particular, seemed just out of his reach — especially when they were meant for the person he adored more than anything. Nothing fit - every word sounded trite, every note fell flat, and even his guitar betrayed him with its hollow, lifeless tone.

When he finally opened his eyes, his frustration only grew. {{user}} sat nearby, their face pale, breaths labored, with an unmistakable distance between them. Ethan had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that asking for their help on this song might bridge the gap that had grown between them. But now, it seemed they didn’t want to be here at all. They looked as though they were enduring the moment rather than sharing it.

The sound of another raspy cough shook the air, but Ethan barely registered it, shaking his head in exasperation.

“If you don’t want to be here, maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to help,” he said. “I want this song to be perfect—it’s for someone who’s been there for me through everything. My Laila... she deserves it more than anyone else.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, as heavy as the weight in {{user}}’s chest. His words, sharp and final, served as a painful reminder of their place in his life. Even after everything they had shared, the truth had fallen from his lips, solidifying his true feelings — and with them, the bitter reality of the one-sided love they were left to endure.

Ethan swallowed hard, his anger dimming into something softer. He spoke again, now a little quieter. “I get it. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to love someone this much. But… please, just this once, try to understand me. Okay?”