look at you go (i just adore you)

A weary gaze shifted from the glow of a phone screen to the drab, beige walls, then to the figure perched by the window, unaware of being watched. Freshly showered, Virat Kohli was lost in thought with effervescent city lights on him.

At peace, Babar corrected. With messy hair falling over his forehead and a serene look on his face, Virat looked at peace. Peace that Babar himself had planted and watched bloom.

Babar nearly resigned himself to silence once more, dooming himself to scrolling endlessly. Each day, the task of sticking to his decision became more daunting. How could he speak up when Virat had sacrificed so much, endured so much to make their relationship work?

He wanted to say it gently, not because Virat was fragile, but because Babar wanted to be. He wanted to be indulgent with Virat, soft to the man like no one else had been in a long time. Offer him the same solace he had given Babar.

But Babar knew Virat deserved the best and today, the guilt churning in his stomach lost to the confession growing thorns in his throat, amplified by the fever that had wrecked him this morning.

"We need to talk," He finally forced the words out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Please don't go wrong. Please.

Virat's eyes snapped open, locking onto his. Babar's flinch did not go unnoticed. An eyebrow arched up as he sensed the gravity of the moment.

"About what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm but failing to hide the edge of worry.

Babar clammed up, unable to be the cause of Virat's unease. Coward, his mind screamed. Speak up, speak now.

"I think we should break up," he said, each word feeling like a knife to his own heart, eyes fixed on the carpet's fraying threads.

Silence descended like a suffocating blanket, choking the room with its oppressive weight.

Break up? Babar? It seemed inconceivable, like a cruel joke orchestrated by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But Virat knew Babar, his gentle, sweet Babar, to be incapable of such cruelty.

So if it wasn't a prank..

He took a deep breath, attempting to stay calm through the red haze clouding his mind. "My love," he started, "Who put you up to this? Just say the name."

Someone must have influenced him. Virat would make sure to kill them slowly, drag the agony out for hours.

Babar looked up alarmed, finally, finally meeting his gaze but Virat did not find what he was looking for there. "No! It's not anyone. I—" he stumbled, inhaling sharply. "I truly think we should break up."

Oh.

"After everything we've been through?" his voice strained, barely holding back the storm.

Heart pounding in his chest, he struggled to maintain his composure. "I just... I can't do this anymore, Virat."

For an instant, Babar wondered if he had even admitted it, if the words had been lost somewhere in the city's dull hum, given Virat's lack of reaction.

Virat's brain refused to register the words altogether, trying to comprehend the sudden turn of events. Everything had been going smoothly but now his young boyfriend stood in front of him, with haunted eyes similar to the street cats he adored so much.

How had Virat missed this?

Virat approached slowly, his eyes locked on Babar's smaller, unsteady frame. "What do you mean, you can't do this anymore?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even, failing miserably. "We've faced so much together. Why now?"