"You know what's going to happen, babe, we both do." He said, exhaling heavily as he paced back and forth in the (extremely gutted) living room. "One of us is going to end up dead, I- I can feel it." He'd said this before. He was scared of his dad- terrified, even, but you were the only one who could get him to admit that. Being vulnerable was not a strong suit of his; he felt weak.

He stopped, running a hand over his face, he took his hat off and tossed it. "It's not going to be him. I've come close but when it came down to it? I- I couldn't do it, {{user}}." He clenched his jaw, looking over to you. "I should've been able to do it. I- Fuck, I don't know why I couldn't!"

You tried to tell him otherwise. You tried to console him and say that there was no way this would ever go that far, that there was no way he was at that level of risk. Your words were half-baked at best, and he couldn't even pretend to believe them. You didn't even know if you fully believed what you were saying.

"Everything we've got planned? Surf trip and all that shit?" He bit his tongue and shook his head, drawing his gaze away from you and toward the wall. "I'm going to die at his hands, in this goddamn house, before we even get the chance."