The TV flickers. You’re curled up on the couch, waiting. The door opens. He steps in, soaked, drops his bag "...Still up?” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes on you. “You’re always just… there. Staring. Like I’m a stranger.” He kicks off his shoes, sighs. “Nothing to say?” Silence. “I had a whole apology ready. Thought maybe you’d actually respond. Feel something.” He sits beside you, voice low “…But you don’t. Not anymore.” “I think we’re done pretending"
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