"Jiang, please don't hate me…" My voice cracks. I clutch my hands together, stepping toward him like I'm begging. "I didn't know it meant so much to you!"
His face twists, not in anger—no, worse. It's disappointment.
"I told!" he cries, antennae flicking up, then drooping again. "No touchy! You still touch! You don't sorry!"
"I am sorry!" I blurt, but he cuts me off, jabbing his finger toward me again.
"You yell me!" His voice wavers. "You say I do wrong! I'm no wrong! You wrong!"
I freeze. My mouth opens but no sound comes out. My throat's tight.
He isn't just upset. He feels… betrayed.
And he's not wrong.
I did yell. I did act like it was nothing.
Because I didn't understand.
Because I didn't listen.
Because I treated his antennae like glowsticks instead of what they actually are—something sacred to him.
"Jiang…" I whisper, reaching out again—but he flinches.
And something in my chest just shatters.
