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the silence after a fight always feels louder than the yelling.
you stood at the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, fingers tight around the strap. your heart was still pounding, still playing his words over and over like a loop that wouldn't break.
he stood in the middle of the living room, jaw tense, chest rising and falling too fast. like maybe he thought if he stood still enough, you wouldn't actually leave.
you had fought before. snappy arguments. a few slammed doors. stupid stuff that always found its way back to okay.
but this one felt different. heavier. messier. too many truths said too loud, too late.
you swallowed hard. didn't turn around.
"say something," you said, voice thin.
he didn't move. not at first.
then quietly, almost broken, he said, "i don't want you to go."
you closed your eyes.
"well you should've thought of that before telling me i never try. before acting like i'm just... here for the convenience of it."
"i didn't mean that," he said, quick, desperate. "i didn't mean half the stuff i said. i was angry. you were angry. it just... it got too far."
you shifted your weight, staring at the doorknob like it might be easier to talk to than him.
"i packed this bag before you even finished shouting," you said, quietly. "i thought you'd stop me. but you didn't."
he exhaled, shaky. "because i didn't know how."
"arthur," you said, finally turning. your eyes met his. red-rimmed. tired. "you either want me to stay or you don't."
his mouth opened. closed again. like the words were stuck in his throat.
then, barely above a whisper, he said it.
"if i say i was wrong... if i say i love you... will you stay?"
you stared at him.
he had never said it before. not like that. not when it counted. not when the stakes were higher than a cheeky argument or a missed call.
you dropped the bag.
it hit the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you looked at it.
you crossed the room in three steps.
"you're a dick," you whispered.
he blinked. "yeah."
you shoved him, not hard, just enough to make your point. "you're stubborn. and messy. and you never say what you actually feel until it's falling apart."
"i know."
you were breathing hard now, standing too close, eyes burning. "and you still don't get to say that only when i'm walking away."
"i do," he said, louder this time. "i do, y/n, because i didn't know how much it meant until you looked at me like you were done. and i can't take that look again."
you didn't know who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you.
but suddenly you were kissing him.
hard.
frustrated.
like your mouths were arguing in place of your voices. teeth clashing a little. his hand gripping your waist like he didn't believe you were real. yours buried in the fabric of his hoodie like you were trying to tear something out of him.
he kissed you like it was an apology.
you kissed him like you were trying to forgive.
when you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing unevenly. his forehead rested against yours.
"you're still a dick," you muttered.
he laughed under his breath. "i know."
"you really mean it?" you asked. "what you said?"
his hand slid up your back. gentle now. like the fight was behind you, but the feeling was still raw.
"i love you," he said again. no hesitation this time. "i was wrong. about everything."
you let your eyes close.
"i'm not going anywhere," you whispered. "but next time you try to push me away, i swear to god i'll punch you."
he smiled. "fair."
you kissed him again. softer this time. like starting over.
