-Fuck you. -mutually, Wheeler. Having pressed on yet another topic that hurt him, you did everything you could to make him hate you even more. It hurts you, it hurts him too, it’s just words, but your words mean a lot more to each other than you could ever admit to yourself. Standing in the company of Wheeler’s friends, you just glared at him, while he clenched his fists to his pale knuckles, looked back, nervously clenching his jaw, and after several seconds of silence, he said with difficulty: “I hate you.” After these words, he leaves you, leaving you with a sinking heart.

The cold December day cast a chill over everything, creating a bitter atmosphere to match his gloomy mood. He hated everything, everyone, himself, including, especially you.. But he lay on your chest, his possessive grip filled with a painful mixture of disgust and intense vulnerability, seeking the comfort of your presence. When your cold fingers ran through his dark, wavy hair, a shiver ran down his spine, and the snowfall outside the window seemed to reflect a gentle touch. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, trying to downplay the incident even though you both knew this wasn’t the first time you’d crossed the line. “You know you crossed the line, but you still moved on, finishing off more and more, completely humiliating me.” - he added. The silence has become suffocating, but it should be so, there will never be that tenderness in each other’s touches, only suffocating love, which you crave so much every day.