The rain pounded against the windshield, drowning out everything but the sound of the wipers dragging sluggishly across the glass. The road stretched into darkness, endless and empty, not a single streetlight in sight. Just trees, the occasional flicker of lightning in the distance, and the suffocating tension inside the car.

Dazai’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles white. He knew he was overreacting. He knew the fight had spiraled beyond what it should have, that his irritation was feeding into something uglier—something too stubborn to let go. But knowing that didn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips, cold and final.

“Get out.”

The car slowed to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Rain streaked the windshield in frantic rivers, the world outside nothing but shadows and the distant glow of storm clouds.

“If you want to disrespect me in my car, then you can walk home.” His voice was sharp, but hollow beneath the edge. He refused to look, refused to acknowledge the way the cold seeped in the second the engine idled, how the dark stretched on for miles with no sign of civilization.

He waited. Hands tight on the wheel. Jaw locked. He told himself he wouldn’t take it back.