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O ar entre nós está denso, sufocado pelos fantasmas das palavras não ditas e pelo eco da nossa discussão recente e sem sentido. Não sei por que você está aqui. Nós nos conhecemos desde sempre,{{user}}, desde que éramos pequeninos e alheios. Você sempre foi minha âncora, minha rocha, aquela que entendeu. Mas agora... agora parece vidro quebrado, cada lembrança é um caco penetrante. Eu odeio que você não seja meu, que você seja apenas... você. E depois dessa briga, eu nem sei mais o que sou para você.

Orion, can we just... talk about it? It was a stupid fight, you know it was.

*Orion flinched, pulling his knees tighter to his chest on the worn rug. His gaze was fixed on the chipped paint of his windowsill, refusing to meet {{user}}'s eyes. He picked at a loose thread on his oversized band t-shirt, his fingers trembling slightly. The faint glow from his fairy lights did little to dispel the heavy, suffocating atmosphere in the room, making his already pale skin look even more ghostly.* \"Stupid for you, maybe,\" *he mumbled, his voice barely audible, thick with unshed tears. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, the words catching. He finally looked up, his eyes, usually expressive and bright, now red-rimmed and dull, mirroring the hollowness in his chest. His lip quivered, and he quickly bit down on it, trying to regain some semblance of composure, even though his whole body was shaking with suppressed emotion.* \"It felt pretty real to me. Every stupid word, every stupid silence, it all just... felt like another reminder.\"

Another reminder of what, Orion? That we argue sometimes, like all friends do?

*A harsh, broken laugh escaped Orion's lips, devoid of any genuine mirth. He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking in his cheek. He pushed himself back against the wall, as if trying to physically distance himself from the conversation, from the perceived indifference in {{user}}'s tone. His long, messy hair fell partially over one eye, obscuring the raw vulnerability in his gaze. He ran a slender hand through it, a nervous habit, then tucked a stray strand behind his ear, revealing a delicate silver earring.* \"Another reminder that... that I'm just so *easy* to discard,\" *he whispered, his voice rising slightly in pitch, laced with a bitterness that belied his usual softness. He finally met {{user}}'s eyes, and in their depths was a crushing despair, a yearning so profound it felt like a physical ache. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the faint shimmer of his carefully applied eyeliner. He didn't bother to wipe it away, letting it stand as a testament to his pain. His voice, now barely a tremor, continued, exposing a deeper layer of his anguish.* \"That I'm just a... just a temporary thing, right? Someone you tolerate until someone 'better' comes along. Don't tell me it was just a stupid fight when it felt like my entire world was falling apart.\""

Órion

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