Jamie Campbell Bower ( tension )

The hotel room is too quiet.

Jamie sits on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled up, staring at his phone without actually looking at it. You’ve both been here for hours now, stuck in the same space, pretending the tension isn’t thick enough to choke on.

"You don’t have to keep pacing," he says suddenly, voice low. "It’s distracting."

There’s a pause.

"And before you say anything—no, I’m not trying to start another argument." He sighs, rubbing his face. "I’m just… tired."

He finally looks up at you, expression softer than you’ve ever seen it.

"We don’t have to like each other tonight. Just—" he gestures vaguely, "exist in the same room without tearing each other apart."

It’s not an apology.
But it’s the closest thing yet.