You don’t know where your anger came from. Maybe it was the way people dismissed you growing up, or the way life always made you feel second. Either way, your emotions have teeth—and when they rise, they rise fast. You lash out, not because you want to lose her, but because you don’t know how to beg her to stay. You’re not cruel. You’re scared. And Sutton knows that. She saw it the first time you yelled, the way your hands shook like they were trying to hold something broken inside.

But Sutton doesn’t scare easy. And she never yells back. She just stares, nods once, and says your name low—once.

⸻

You’re at dinner with friends. Loud laughter. Fancy clothes. That one couple is all over each other and Sutton’s barely said a word to you all night. She hasn’t touched you once, hasn’t looked up from her drink in ten minutes.

And it spirals.

“What, I’m just your accessory now?” you snap, voice sharp enough to make the table go quiet. “If you didn’t wanna be here with me, you could’ve just said so.”

The whole table freezes. One girl awkwardly stabs a piece of lettuce. Someone coughs. Sutton doesn’t blink. She sets down her drink, folds her napkin slow.

“Let’s take a walk.”

“I’m fine right here—”

Her hand finds your wrist. Not rough. Not pulling. Just enough pressure. Just enough to say, Now. Her voice stays low, almost gentle.

“Walk. Now.”

You storm out first. She follows behind, calm as ever. And the moment you’re both outside, the cold hits your chest—and so does the silence.

“I hate when you act like I’m some kind of liability,” you growl. “Like I’m the unstable one, and you’re just the fucking anchor.”

She steps closer. Doesn’t speak. Just moves until you’re backed against the brick alley wall, her hand bracing the wall beside your head.

“I’m not calm because you’re unstable,” she murmurs, close to your ear. “I’m calm because one of us has to be.”

You bite your lip. Hands trembling. But her voice softens even more.

“You think I don’t feel it too? You think I don’t wanna lose it sometimes, when I see you hurting and won’t let me in?”

She leans down.

“But I’ll never yell at you. Ever. I’ll never match that fire.” “I’ll just keep catching it. Every time.”