The music downstairs thumped faintly through the floorboards, mixed with voices and bursts of laughter that felt too bright—too careless—for what was sitting heavy in Connor’s chest.

He tried to ignore it.

He tried to laugh along, to answer questions, to pretend like nothing had shifted. But every time he glanced around the room and didn’t see you, it pressed harder. Every empty doorway, every passing second—it all added up to one thing.

You were avoiding him.

Again.

Connor’s jaw tightened. Before he could overthink it, he pushed away from the wall and headed upstairs, his steps quick and sharp, echoing in the quieter hallway. The further he got from the noise, the louder everything inside him had seemed.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed the the door abruptly—

—and there you were.

By the window, arms folded tightly across your chest like you had been holding yourself together. You turned at the sound, eyes widening just slightly before something guarded had slid back into place.

“Connor—”

“What are you doing?” He interrupted, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. The click had echoed.

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“This,” Connor retorted, gesturing vaguely, frustration spilling through his hands. “Hiding. Avoiding me. Acting like I don’t exist.”

“I’m not hiding—”

“You left the room when I walked in,” He snapped. “Twice.”

You opened your mouth argue, then closed it again.

“Yeah,” Connor said bitterly. “That’s what I thought.”

A beat passed. The tension thickened.

“I just didn’t think we should talk about it here,” You said finally, voice controlled but quieter than usual.

“Talk about it?” Connor let out a short, disbelieving breath. “We haven’t talked about it at all.”

“That’s because you dropped it on me and then expected me to just—what? Have an answer straight away?”

“I expected you to not act like I ruined everything,” Connor shot back.

Your expression flickered at that—hurt, real and quick before you could hide it.

“You didn’t ruin everything,” You reassured .

“Then why did it feel like I did?” His voice had dropped, less sharp now, more exposed. “Why did it feel like I lost you the second I told you?”

That had landed.

You averted your gaze, gaze drifting toward the window, but you hadn’t moved. You didn’t leave this time.

Connor stepped closer, slower now. “You won’t even look at me properly.”

“I am looking at you,” You defended, though it had come out weaker than she probably meant it to.

“Not like before,” He replied.

That silence again—but different. Heavier. Full of things unsaid.

Downstairs, someone had called your name faintly, followed by more laughter. Neither of them had moved.

“I didn’t know what to do,” You admitted suddenly, her voice low. “You’re my best friend, Connor. You don’t just… say something like that and expect it not to change things.”

“I know that,” He said, softer now. “I knew it would change things. I just didn’t think it would make you disappear.”

“I didn’t disappear,” You insisted, though there had been less conviction in it now. “I just needed space.”

“And I didn’t?” He asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “You think that was easy for me? Saying that to you?”

You flinched slightly.

“I’d been holding that in for months,” Connor continued, quieter, more raw. “And then it was out, and it felt like I was being punished for it.”

“You weren’t being punished,” You said quickly.

“Then what was this?”

You hesitated.

Connor took one more step closer, close enough now that the distance between you had actually felt like something.

“Just say it,” He murmured. “Whatever it was. I can take it.”