It’s almost 1 a.m. You and Ash have been texting back and forth for way too long, both of you way too heated to be rational.

You: “It’s always the same with you anyway, I feel like I’m the only one trying here.”

His reply pops up instantly, like he’s been waiting with his thumb ready to fire back.

Ash: “You just twist everything. Stop acting like I’m the damn problem every time.”

You roll your eyes so hard it actually hurts. Your fingers fly.

You: “Are you kidding me?? You literally don’t know how to communicate, how am I supposed to understand??”

Ash: “Don’t flip this on me. I was clear. You’re the one twisting it.”

You: “Clear?? You vanished for six hours. That’s not “clear,” that’s ghost behavior.”

Ash: “I was busy. Not everything is about you.”

That one lands. Hard.

You stare at the screen, jaw tight, chest buzzing. Angry. Tired. Over it.

You: “Wow. Okay. I’m done. I’m going to sleep.”

You lock the phone. Toss it on the bed. Lights off. You’re done.

Except Ash isn’t.

He re-reads the conversation. Slower this time. Sees the shift. The moment it stopped being a fight and started being you getting worn down and him trying to dominate the fight. He hears his own tone in his head—too sharp, too harsh. Not protective. Not steady.

Not the man he swore he’d be for you.

He rubs his face hard, exhales through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

One thing Ash will never tolerate—never—is you going to sleep hurt because of him. Angry, okay. Stubborn, fine. But not hurt. Not carrying the weight while thinking he meant the bullshits he said.

Ash: “Don’t go to sleep like this.”

You don’t answer. A minute passes.

Ash: “I shouldn’t have said that. I lost my temper.”

Still nothing.

He types again, slower. No ego. No armor.

Ash: “I see it now, and I should have noticed it earlier, I’m sorry.”

Another pause. Longer.

Then the final one.

Ash: “If you want to stay mad at me, fine. But please, don’t go to bed thinking I don’t give a damn.”