The rain had stopped by the time Riven reached his apartment, but the storm inside him only grew.
He tossed his soaked jacket onto the couch and collapsed beside it, staring at the ceiling like it could give him answers.
He replayed the fight in his head — every word, every pause, every sharp breath. The worst part wasn't the anger in Eli's voice.
It was the hurt.
Riven dragged a hand over his face. "Idiot," he muttered to himself.
He had wanted Eli to understand how much he mattered. Instead, he'd made it sound like an accusation.
Across the city, Eli sat on his bed with the lights off, the steady hum of his laptop the only sound in the room. Mika had sent him three messages asking if he was okay. He didn't reply.
His thoughts weren't on Mika. They were on Riven.
On the way his voice had cracked — not from shouting, but from holding something back.
Eli pressed his lips together. He knew Riven wasn't the easiest person to love. But he also knew that when Riven did care about someone, he cared fiercely, recklessly, like he was terrified of losing them.
And maybe that was exactly what Riven feared now.
But Eli had fears too.
He feared that Riven's doubts would always come between them. That every smile he gave someone else might be seen as betrayal. That one day, the jealousy would outweigh the trust.
The next morning, neither of them texted first.
Hours passed. The silence between them grew heavier, like wet sand pressing them down.
By late afternoon, Riven stood in front of his phone, thumb hovering over Eli's contact.
He typed: Can we talk?
He deleted it.
On the other side of the city, Eli stared at his own phone, writing: I didn't want it to be like this.
He deleted that too.
The distance between them wasn't just in the miles now.
It was in the things they wanted to say but couldn't.
In the words they'd thrown carelessly, and the ones they were too afraid to speak.
Somewhere deep down, both wondered the same thing:
Was this the beginning of the end… or just another storm they had to survive together?
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