Capture

Doors Closing

The night air hit my skin like a slap as I pushed through the gallery doors. I didn't care that I left without saying goodbye. I didn't care that I had come here to be supportive, or social, or anything resembling composed.

I just needed out.

The city buzzed in the distance, lights blurring, tires hissing against damp pavement. I didn't realize how fast I was walking until I heard his footsteps behind me.

"Running again?" Liam's voice cut through the dark, sharp and familiar.

I spun on my heel, my heels scraping angrily against the sidewalk. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He kept walking until he was only a few feet away, hands shoved in his coat pockets, shoulders squared. "I'm just pointing it out."

"Jesus, Liam—" I threw my arms out. "You chased me down to throw that in my face?"

"You walked out. Same as last time."

"Because I couldn't stand there and let you rip me apart again in front of a fucking painting!"

"I didn't ask you to walk away—"

"You never ask!" I shouted. "You just shove and push and punish anyone who gets too close, and then you wonder why they walk away."

He flinched, and I almost stopped. Almost.

"I can't stand you," he said, voice low and rough. "You piss me off. You challenge every word I say. You throw everything back in my face. And still—" He broke off, exhaling like it physically hurt to admit it. "Still," he repeated, "when we fight... I've never felt something so fucking alive. You make me feel like I'm not sleepwalking through the world. It's chaos with you, but it's real. It's passion. It's—" He shook his head, jaw tight. "I've never had that. Not like this."

I stared at him, heart racing — not because I was moved. Because I was furious. "I don't want that, Liam!" I snapped. "I don't want a relationship that feels like war. I don't want to scream every time we're in the same room. That's not love, that's just... pain with lipstick."

His face dropped, just slightly, like he hadn't expected me to say that.

"I don't want to be in something toxic," I added, quieter now, but no less certain. "Not again."

He swallowed hard. "I don't deserve you." The words came like a reflex, like a bruise he kept pressing just to feel something.

And that—that—was what broke me. "God, stop saying that!" I shouted, voice cracking under the weight of it. "You keep punishing yourself like it's noble, but all you're doing is choosing to be miserable. And worse — you're choosing for me too."

I pointed a finger at him, chest heaving. "If I wanted to be with you — if I wanted the storm and the silence and all of it — that's my choice to make. Not yours."

He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stood there, under the streetlight, soaked in guilt and shadows. "Go home, Liam," I said finally, my voice tired now. "I'm done fighting. I'll leave you alone. You don't have to worry about me anymore."

I turned to walk away — for real this time, but his voice stopped me cold. "I was content to be alone," he said quietly. Not pleading, just... honest.

I froze. He continued. "I thought I could live like that. Thought I deserved to. And then..."

I turned around, arms wrapped tight around myself. "Then what?"

He met my eyes, nothing guarded left in him.

"You."

One word.