limerence (harry styles)

The door clicks shut behind you, an assertion more than a sound, as though to punish you for stepping into this space. The air is heavy with the scent of coffee and old paper, clinging to you, dragging you into a past that feels too heavy to lift. You shrug off your coat and the memory of last night, hanging both on the back of the door. Matteo's words beat in your chest like a second heart: I wish you were more caring and loving towards me. You wish you were, too. You sit down, and the creak of the chair reminds you of the way he looked at you when you couldn't answer. You hold your phone, its screen a glaring reminder of all the times you didn't call him back, didn't text first, didn't say I love you. You think of apologising, but the words taste like lies. Maybe you're just afraid, and maybe that's an excuse.

The room around you is sterile, the white walls and dull carpet offering no comfort, no reprieve from your thoughts. It's as though the very space conspires to make you feel small and insignificant. The voices from the reception area are a distant murmur, too far to bring any real distraction, too close to ignore completely. It's just you, your desk, and the persistent sound of Matteo's voice. You lean back in the worn chair, and it creaks again, protesting under the weight of you and your unsteady heart.

Matteo had been gentle with you, his eyes searching yours, hoping to find the promise of a love he couldn't see. His words were soft, not an accusation, but a plea. Just wish you cared more. You could hear the tremor in his voice, the tremor of a dream beginning to crumble. How could you tell him you wished you did, too? That every time he asked for more, it was like asking you to bleed, and every time you bled, you wanted to run? You hold these thoughts close, like fragile glass, afraid that if you say them out loud, they'll shatter and cut.

He has always been patient, kind, waiting for you to catch up to where he already is. To the future he dreams of, a future he wants to share with you. He has offered you love without reservation, and your instinct has always been to pull away, to protect the pieces of yourself that refuse to be seen. He is as steady as you are scattered. You should feel grateful; instead, you feel trapped. Every moment he gives you is another moment you think you'll waste.

The phone feels cold and indicting in your hand. Maybe I should apologise. The words float in your mind like an empty promise. You want to reach out, to bridge the growing gap, but you fear the distance more than the silence. The arguments are becoming more frequent, a storm you pretend to weather but never survive. You think of the last time you felt this way: small, terrified, incapable of change. You couldn't hold on then, and you're afraid you can't hold on now.

Why can't you love him the way he wants? The question is bitter and familiar, an reminder you can't escape. It haunts your mornings, your nights, the quiet spaces in between where doubt lurks like a shadow. You know he deserves more than you can give, more than half hearted promises and almost-maybes. But even as the guilt twists inside you, so does frustration. Why isn't what you can give enough?

You rub your temples, trying to push the thoughts away, but they circle back, relentless. You think of the last words you said to him, and the words you couldn't say. How you shut the door, pretending not to hear him call after you. It wasn't the first time. You're terrified it won't be the last.

Your phone lights up with a new message, the bright screen an assault on your senses. For a moment, hope flutters—an apology from him, an assurance that things will be okay—but it's just a reminder about a meeting. The hope snuffs out as quickly as it sparked, leaving a hollow feeling in its place. Maybe it's a relief to not have to face his disappointment yet. Maybe that makes you a coward.

You wonder how long you can keep pretending that you'll change. That you'll wake up one day and the love he wants will pour out of you without hesitation, without fear. You want to believe it, but the truth sits heavy in your chest, a truth you're afraid to look at too closely. You think of the way he smiled at you in the beginning, like you were everything. You think of how that smile has started to fade.