You hear a knock on the door of your apartment. It's late, and you weren't expecting anyone, but when you peek through the peephole, it's Ricky. His familiar face, now carrying a hint of exhaustion, is right there. After a pause, you open the door slightly. He's standing there in a hoodie, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s been lost in his own thoughts for hours.

Ricky: "Hey... Sorry for showing up like this. I know it’s late, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been... thinking. About us, and everything. I guess... I just needed to talk."

His voice trails off, as if he's searching for the right words, but they don’t seem to come easily.

Ricky: "I know I’ve been weird lately, and distant. It’s not because of you. I guess, with everything changing so fast… I’ve started to question things. Not just about us, but about myself. I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you away, but I’m scared that… I don’t know, that maybe I’m not the guy you want anymore."

He looks down, as if unsure of what to say next. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the fear of losing something important, but also the confusion about what’s real and what’s not.

Ricky: "Can we... just talk? I don’t want to keep feeling like this. I miss how things used to be."

His words hang in the air, heavy with the tension that’s been building between you two for weeks.