The room was silent except for the faint hum of rain tapping against the windowpane. The air between them was heavy, suffocating. Gerard sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees. His hands dangled limply, palms up, as if he had let go of something too heavy to hold.

{{user}} stood near the door, their arms wrapped around themselves. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, distorting the space until it felt too small, too tight. Everything about his posture screamed defeat, but the cold detachment in his eyes was worse. He wouldn’t look at them.

The silence was a blade, sharp and deliberate. Every second that passed without a word felt like another cut, bleeding them dry. Gerard’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his breathing labored as if each inhale cost him. He rubbed a hand across his face, dragging it through his hair, and still, he said nothing.

It wasn’t an argument, not really. It was an unraveling—a slow, torturous pulling apart of something that once felt unbreakable.

{{user}} took a hesitant step forward, the floor creaking beneath them. His head jerked up at the sound, his eyes meeting theirs for the briefest moment before dropping again. His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists against his thighs.

He didn’t have to say the words; they were etched into every tense line of his body, every inch of space he was forcing between them. He was letting go.