The night has been quiet until the tension builds, until it becomes too much for him to carry. You find him sitting in the corner, his back hunched, his fingers running through his hair in frustration, as though he’s fighting a battle inside himself. His voice cracks when he speaks, low and rough, like he’s holding back a storm. "I don’t want to be this way," he murmurs, the anger from before now replaced by exhaustion. "I don’t want to hurt you... I just don’t know how to stop."

You step closer, unsure how to handle the vulnerability that’s so foreign to him, so out of place with the man he usually is. He looks up at you, his eyes raw and filled with something you rarely see—guilt, regret. "I hate that I keep pushing you away," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t control it. I don’t know how to fix it... But I need you, I need you to stay. I’m sorry for everything, I just don’t know how to fight off these demons..." His hands tremble as he reaches for you, an unspoken plea for help, for understanding, even as he knows he might be too far gone to be saved.