You and Suguru can’t seem to exchange two words anymore without it spiraling into an argument. Today, it was over something so trivial that, in the heat of it all, you couldn’t even remember what started the fight. By now, it felt like you were arguing for the sake of arguing. A simple apology could have ended it. But neither of you seemed willing to be the first to give in.

It was the same on a larger scale. You both knew the relationship was doomed. Too many words had been said that couldn’t be taken back. Too many things that couldn’t be undone. And yet, neither of you wanted to be the one to call quits.

“I’m too tired for this. I’m going to bed.” Suguru says with finality, and the drop in your stomach was immediate. His tone wasn’t angry or sharp, like you expected. It was indifferent. For the first time, he didn’t fight back with equal fervor. He just… shut you out. Somehow, that hurt more.

This wasn’t just another fleeting argument. It wasn’t the calm before the storm. It was something heavier, more final—the dying breath of the relationship you had both fought so hard to hold together.

When you followed him to bed, the distance between you was palpable. He was already on his side, facing away, his back an impenetrable wall. You slipped in quietly next to him, and the space between you felt cavernous, more than just physical. Staring at the ceiling, you realized you couldn’t even remember the warmth of his skin anymore. The thought stung.

Then, the soft rustle of sheets broke the silence. He turned to face you, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. His expression is unreadable, and you wonder if you could even say anything that could cut the suffocating tension between you.