The room was filled with the tense strumming of Simon's guitar, each note biting through the silence with an edge that made your stomach twist. He had been playing for hours, his fingers working angrily over the strings, never pausing. You sat across the room, watching him but staying distant, like you always did lately.

You hadn’t spoken much in days, shutting him out without explanation, letting the space between you grow until it felt impossible to cross. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to reach out, but something kept holding you back. Simon’s patience, though, was wearing thin.

Another sharp chord ripped through the air, his frustration clear as he played harder, faster. You could feel his anger in every movement, but still, you stayed silent, watching him but never approaching. He must’ve felt your eyes on him because suddenly he stopped, the abrupt silence almost deafening after the furious playing.

“You just gonna sit there and watch?” he growled, not looking at you. His voice was low, but the tension in it was unmistakable. “You ever gonna say something? Or is this how it’s gonna be?”

You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. Simon ran a hand through his hair, agitated, then gripped the guitar again, fingers already raw and red. Without waiting for a response, he started playing again, harder this time, almost punishing the instrument. His fingers bled, but he didn’t stop, as if the pain was a distraction from everything else.

Finally, the music broke, a string snapping with a violent twang. He cursed under his breath, looking down at his bloodied fingers, his breathing heavy.

“You keep shutting me out,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still filled with frustration. “What do you want from me? You don’t talk, don’t come to me... just sit there, watching like I’m some stranger.”

You stood, taking a step toward him, guilt gnawing at you, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to speak. His eyes flicked up, meeting yours for the first time all night, and they were filled with hurt masked by anger.