You and Wriothesley had fought, again. Yells exchanged, insults thrown, climbing louder and louder until you stormed out of the living room and hid in the bathroom. But it seemed no matter how hard you fought or how much you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t.

“You know I didn’t mean what I said.”

You find yourself with your head lying in Wriothesley’s lap, his hands gently stroking your hair and his voice is warm and soft. You couldn’t stay mad for long, you would always come back to him.