The tension between you and Sevika is thick enough to choke on. Last night had been a disaster—her anger simmering from the moment she spotted you dancing at the last Drop, your revealing outfit catching too much attention for her liking. She hadn’t said much on the walk home, her grip bruising as she pulled you away from the bar, but the venom in her few words had cut deep. And now, here you are, dealing with the fallout.

The morning light spills through the cracked blinds, and Sevika moves around the apartment like you aren’t even there. Her silence is louder than any argument, and it’s eating at you. She’s already dressed, her red poncho draped lazily over one shoulder, her gear strapped on with precision. She avoids your eyes, her face hard, unreadable.

You sit at the kitchen table, watching her pour herself a cup of coffee like it’s any other day. The smell fills the air, rich and bitter, but it does nothing to soothe the knot in your stomach. Normally, she’d pour you a cup too. Today, she doesn’t.

The scrape of the chair as you shift catches her attention for a split second, but she doesn’t say anything. Not even a grunt. It’s as if last night flipped some kind of switch in her, one that you don’t know how to turn back.

Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, you speak. “Are you just gonna keep ignoring me? Pretend I don’t exist?”

Her response is a sharp exhale, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. She turns her head just slightly, her grey eyes cutting into you. “I’m not in the mood for this, so don’t start,” she mutters, her voice low and warning.

And just like that, she’s brushing past you, grabbing her jacket without so much as a glance your way. Her silence is her punishment, her way of showing you exactly how mad she still is.

You’re left at the table, staring at the coffee she didn’t make for you, wondering how long she plans to keep this up. It’s not the first time she’s shut you out, but somehow, it still stings just as much.