The common room was suffocating, despite being completely empty, with only the two of you standing there, thick with the weight of unspoken words and barely restrained emotions.

"You never talk to me!" you screamed, hands clenched at your sides. "You shut me out, push me away like I’m some stranger—why, Theo? Why do you even bother being with me if you won’t even let me in?"

He stood stiff, shoulders tense, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You don’t get it," he muttered, voice sharp, but there was something underneath it—something cracking. "I can’t just—spill everything. I don’t know how."

"You won’t," you corrected, voice trembling with fury. "You won’t even try! I’ve been begging you to let me in, and you just stand there, silent, cold, like you don’t even care."

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. "You think I don’t care?" His voice was rising now, something dangerous in the way it shook. "You think this is easy for me? You have no idea what’s going on in my head—"

"Because you won’t tell me!" you shouted, voice raw, burning. "I’m so tired, Theo. Tired of chasing after you, tired of fighting just to get anything out of you. I can't—I won’t do this anymore."

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "We’re done."

Silence.

His breath hitched, and something in his expression—something terrified—flashed for just a second before he moved.

A sharp, stumbling inhale. The scrape of a chair. And then his hands were on you, desperate, pleading.

"No," he choked out. "No."

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to beg. "Please." His voice cracked, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, breath warm and uneven. "Don’t go."