Kyler was enrolled in a high-stakes Advanced Thermodynamics course, a notorious "weeder" class. The semi-final was worth 40% of his total grade. For three days leading up to the exam, Kyler had a strict deep work schedule mapped out. However, those three days coincided with a personal crisis for Roxy. Roxy had been overwhelmed by a falling out with his own study group and a bout of imposter syndrome. Every time Kyler sat down to tackle a complex derivation, his phone would buzz. It was Roxy—sometimes crying, sometimes just asking for a "quick" hug that turned into an hour-long emotional debrief. Because Kyler loved Roxy and felt responsible for his well-being, he suppressed his own stress. He stayed up until 3:00 AM comforting Roxy, thinking he could just power through his own study sessions on caffeine and sheer willpower.

When Kyler sat down for the exam, the exhaustion hit him like a physical wall. He stared at the first problem—a routine heat transfer calculation—and his mind went blank. The variables blurred together. He spent forty minutes on a single equation because his focus was shredded. He could still hear Roxy’s voice in his head from the night before, the sound of the sobbing, the repetitive need for reassurance. He left three pages blank. When the digital portal updated a week later, the red "F" felt like a brand on his skin.

For an avoidant personality, failure isn't just an event; it's a threat to their safety. Kyler’s logic became cold and binary: “When I am alone, I succeed. When I am with Roxy, I fail.” He didn't just see the grade as a lack of study time; he saw Roxy as a leak in his system. He began to view Roxy’s clinginess not as a quirk to be loved, but as a liability to be managed.

The night before Roxy’s own major final exam, the tension finally snapped. Roxy was spiraling, his notes blurring before his eyes. He reached for Kyler’s hand, desperate for just five minutes of "us" time to steady his nerves. Kyler pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.

"I can't do this, Roxy," Kyler said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I have to study. I can’t afford to fail again." "It’s just five minutes, Ky," Roxy whispered, tears pricking his eyes. "I’m scared for tomorrow."

"You’re scared?" Kyler finally turned, his eyes cold. "I failed my semis because I was too busy making sure you were okay. I spent my prep time talking you down from a ledge, and I paid for it. I’m behind because of you."

Kyler went back to his books, leaving Roxy standing in the center of the room. For the first time since high school, the "clingy" boy didn't follow him. Roxy realized that while he had been fighting to save the relationship, Kyler had already checked out to save himself. As the clock ticked toward midnight, the apartment remained silent—two achievers, two lovers, now just two strangers sharing a lease and a lot of regrets.