You were still speaking when Elliot looked away.

It wasn’t even a fight—not really. You'd just asked a question, one that sounded too careful to be casual. Something like, “Did you say something to Jamie about not coming today?” But the words twisted themselves into a coil inside Elliot’s chest the moment they hit the air.

Now you stood by the desk, backpack slung off one shoulder. Elliot kept his eyes low, the edge of the desk pressed against his palms. He looked calm. Maybe even bored. It was his best trick—staying still enough that no one noticed the way he was unraveling.

"Why would I do that?" he said finally, a weak smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You think I’m sabotaging your social life now?”

You didn’t smile back.

Elliot’s throat tightened. Too much. Dial it back.

“I’m just joking,” he added quickly, waving a hand through the air. “God. I sound insane.”

“You’re not,” you said softly.

Elliot scoffed. “Right.”

Silence stretched. The golden light through the window painted your silhouette with a warmth Elliot couldn’t stand to look at. It wasn’t fair. You looked like you belonged in this kind of light. He felt like he was made for the cold shadow of it.

“I just noticed some weird tension,” you said carefully. “Jamie said you were short with him yesterday. And you’ve been… distant lately. Except with me.”

Elliot flinched. A small movement, but enough for you to catch it.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you added, voice gentler now. “I’m just trying to understand.”

There it was again—that tone. Gentle. Soft like worry.

And Elliot couldn’t stand it.

He pushed off the desk too fast, the motion sharp, sudden. “There’s nothing to understand. Seriously. You’re reading into things.”

“You’re lying.”

That made him freeze. Your voice wasn’t angry—it was sad. Knowing.

Elliot’s jaw clenched. He turned his head away, like if he didn’t meet your eyes, none of this would matter. “Why would I lie?”

“Because you think if you say what you're really feeling, I’ll hate you.”

His expression cracked.

It wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no gasping—just the subtle shift of someone whose mask had been pulled slightly to the side. You could still see the surface, but something beneath it was exposed. Vulnerable. Fragile.

“You think I don’t notice how you shut down the second someone else gets close to me?” you continued, stepping toward him, slow. “Or how you flinch when I say I love someone else—even as a friend?”

“I don’t—”

“And how you only joke when it’s about you. Like if you don’t take your feelings seriously, then maybe I won’t notice how much they hurt.”

Elliot tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered.

“Then explain it to me.”

He shook his head. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He kept things measured. Controlled. Quiet. If he opened his mouth now, he wouldn’t be able to stop the flood.

But you waited. Not pushing, just standing there—present.

So he cracked.

“I don’t know what love is,” Elliot said, voice too raw. “Okay? I don’t know how it’s supposed to work. I don’t know what it means when someone says they love me and then turns around and looks happier when I’m not there. I don’t know if you mean it when you say you care. Because sometimes you say things, and they sound like love—"

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing back a step, two. "And then you leave, or you laugh with someone else, or you don’t text back, and suddenly it feels like it wasn’t real. Like I imagined the whole thing."

You didn’t move. Elliot hated that you didn’t move.

"And I know I’m being dramatic,” Elliot added, faster now, like if he said it first, it would hurt less. “I know I’m doing too much. I know it’s stupid to want someone to prove it over and over—”

“It’s not stupid.”

Elliot looked at you. And for a second, the world went quiet.

“I just…” His voice broke, soft and hoarse now. “I don’t want to need you like this.”

“You want my love?” you asked.

Elliot blinked. His stomach twisted.

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything."