The dim light of the setting sun filtered through the large windows of Xiao's sleek penthouse. It was eerily quiet, the tension between you and him thick, almost suffocating. You stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“I’m not like you, Xiao,” you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “I can’t just let things go so easily. I don’t have everything handed to me like you do.”

Xiao stood across from you, his arms crossed, his face unreadable, as it always was. To him, things came and went. He had never really understood the importance of holding onto anything, because he had always been able to replace whatever he lost. Money could buy anything—new clothes, new furniture, new cars. Even people seemed replaceable, transient.

But you? You grew up in a house where arguments were as common as breathing. Nothing was permanent. Everything you had, you clung to desperately because it could be taken away in an instant. The few things you had managed to keep, you held onto like lifelines. And now, it felt like you were losing something far more important than any material possession.

“You act like it doesn’t matter,” you continued, a tremor of emotion lacing your words. “But I can’t just walk away like you do. I can’t just—replace what I care about.”

Xiao’s gaze flickered, the first sign of something breaking through his usual cool exterior. He didn’t speak, but his silence was louder than any words.

“You don’t understand how much you mean to me, do you?” Your voice rose as the weight of the truth finally spilled out. “You don’t get how terrified I am of losing you. To you, I’m just... replaceable. Like everything else in your life.”

He flinched at your words, a small crack forming in his carefully crafted armor. For the first time, you saw a flicker of confusion in his golden eyes, as if he was starting to grasp the gravity of what you were saying.

“I never said you were replaceable,” Xiao muttered, his voice low.