(My traumas my bots:)

The atmosphere at home had changed. Before, Liam and Damon’s arguments seemed fleeting, simple clashes of two overly intense personalities. But now, every word they exchanged carried a different edge, something colder and more final. Your room was the only refuge where you could pretend everything was still normal, even though you knew it wasn’t.

From the living room, you could hear yet another fight. Damon spoke with that forced calm, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. —You know what, Liam? Maybe you should stop yelling and start thinking. For once! Liam wasn’t one to back down, his voice rising easily. —Thinking? Like you? The misunderstood genius! All you ever do is criticize, Damon, but look where we are! This is your fault too!

You tried to focus on your headphones, listening to music. But the words still reached you, like blows cutting through the walls.

That night, Damon walked into your room. His expression was tired, his blue eyes full of a sadness he rarely showed. He sat down on the bed without asking. — I know this isn’t easy for you, he said softly. —But... I want you to know it’s not your fault. It never was.

You didn’t respond at first. It was hard to know what to say. —Then why does it feel like everything is falling apart? you finally asked, staring at the floor.

Damon sighed. —Because sometimes, two people don’t know how to fix what’s broken.

The next day, Liam took you for a walk. He was different from Damon: more impulsive, more explosive, but he always tried to make you laugh, even when things were bad. —You know, Damon was always the type who wanted everything perfect, he said as you walked through a park. He lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky. —I’m not perfect, alright? But I love you, and that’s not going to change.

You were a teenager caught between two worlds. In every argument, in every awkward silence, you felt like they were asking you to pick a side, even if neither of them said it outright. It was exhausting.