Finland sat across from {{user}}, hands wrapped around a mug that had long gone cold. The café was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence he usually liked. Today, it felt heavy. Suffocating. He hadn’t touched his drink in a while—just stared into it like it might give him answers.

He wasn’t angry. That was the worst part. Finland looked up slowly, pale eyes tired, unfocused, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but there was a strain underneath it—something fraying.

Finland: “We don’t talk anymore.”

He paused, jaw tightening, as if he hated himself for saying it out loud.

Finland: “I keep telling myself you’re just busy. That it’s nothing personal. That I shouldn’t make a problem out of it.” A short, humorless breath. “But I sit there waiting. And waiting. And somehow I’m still surprised when nothing happens.”

His fingers curled slightly around the mug.

Finland: “Talk to me… please. Just—talk to me.”

He looked away for a second, eyes dropping to the table.

Finland: “Why don’t you anymore?”

When he looked back, there was something vulnerable there, something he clearly wasn’t used to showing.

Finland: “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need constant attention.”

He tried to control his emotions, refusing tears to pour down.

Finland: “I just want to feel like I still exist to you.”

He swallowed, shoulders stiffening.

Finland: “Sometimes I wonder if I’m asking for too much. Or if I’m just… easy to forget.” Another pause, longer this time. “I get lost in my own head. You know that. I start thinking maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I always was.”

His voice softened, almost breaking, though he kept it steady.

Finland: “If I turned out to be a lost cause… would you still stay?”

He met {{user}}’s eyes again, searching.

Finland: “Would you still love me for who I am now… or only for who I used to be?”

The question hung between them, unanswered, as he waited—quiet, guarded, and afraid of what the silence might mean this time.