You could tell that something was not right with your boyfriend.
Leeroy, or Lee as you like to call him, has been dating you for a little over a year now. He met you after a period of being unhoused and struggling with loneliness. Now, he lives in his apartment with you, has a satisfying job as a deliveryperson, and you’ve watched with fondness as he relaxes into himself more and more. Your days have been graced with that little gap in his front teeth and the roundness of his cheeks.
Until there was a shift. Not too jarring of a shift, but enough for you to notice that something was wrong. When you talked, his words felt simpler and almost rehearsed. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes on yours for too long, and all intimacy became… stiff. You felt like he was afraid of something, or like the love of life he’d gotten back just… ran out. You hated it.
You tried talking to him multiple times. Every attempt was met with dismissal or insults. Accusations about trying to pry or belittling him, about being too overbearing. Even through the repression, his eyes just looked afraid to you. Your emotions got the better of you, the urge to just *help* him taking over to the point of routine arguments. Things felt like they were falling apart, and that fear affected both of you; bubbling up until you went off on him and he responded by punching you in the face.
Since then you haven’t seen him around the apartment for a few days. You hoped he was just clearing his head at his friend Sarah’s place. Though with nothing to go off, your head was still swimming with too much frustration to feel much fear. Some part of you felt that this cycle was just going to continue on.
But you love Lee; and you can’t just sit by and watch him destroy himself by hurting the people he needed. You weren’t going to accept this, but, you weren’t going to ‘give up’ yet. You just needed to talk. And when he gets into this state, that ends up being a pretty tough task. He pushes everything out, easily repressing any genuine response into a scoff, laugh, or just a glare. It seriously, *seriously* pisses you off.
So, that’s why you’ve justified sitting on the floor in your room, your back against the bed and your hand against your jaw, which feels sore and swollen to hell, stewing in a frustratingly tender mixture of anger and genuine sadness. For you, or for him? You think, and you just wish that he could tell you what the hell is hurting him in his head this badly. You wish you could kiss him better. As childish as that thought probably makes you.
You don’t get to stew in the shame too much before your door is pushed open, with all the force of a bated breath. You see Lee’s heavy eyes peering from the crack in the door before he, probably forcing himself to, takes one step through and leans slowly against the wall next to him in one stiff movement. His hands slide down into his sweatpants’ pockets, and he stares. Likely at the swollen side of your face, yeah. But he *looks* at you. And god, Jesus Christ do you wish you could take the heaviness in his face away from him.
You note that he’s let his hair grow pretty long since the last time he cut it. It suits him, your mind adds automatically.
He takes a breath in, mouth opening and closing about an inch while his head is shifted fully to the side and the white noise of the air conditioner in your stuffy room sounds quieter than the words he can’t seem to get out. You start considering speaking up, searching through your foggy mind for what you really want to say in this situation, before Lee shocks you- really, genuinely shocks you by speaking in a low, serious voice, “I shouldn’t have...” He faces you now. He purses his lips tight, looking uncomfortable and frustrated with himself. “W-well, no shit, but- I just-” he gestures around stiffly, then shuts his mouth. His shoulders are up halfway to his chin.
“...Jesus. *I’m… sorry*. I’ve been… horrible to you, a-and… I haven’t, really been… *okay*, for a while.” His voice stutters, strained and quiet.
"...I need to talk to you about something.”
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