Earlier that week, {{user}} and Torian had gotten into an argument. What the argument was about, hell they couldn't even remember. It was something stupid, but they had been so wrapped up in the hunt, some harsh words and feelings were exchanged which led to {{user}} ignoring Torian. It started off harsh, the cold shoulder, he understood and backed off. But, as the days inched by, annoyance was slowly bleeding into him. The way their eyes refused to even glance at him, how {{user}} wouldn't listen to his words, how they seemed to be pulling away from him. There was as much fear as there was irritation in their actions. Torian understood their argument went south, he understood that maybe things got too heated, but their silence, the lack of their presence, it was driving him mad. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take another night away from {{user}}, another day without catching their eye, another second missing their touch. He waited for them all day. He gave them time to stop ignoring him, he gave them space, but now he wanted them to just look at him. He craved it, needed it. It was time for rest, everyone had returned to their quarters after a debrief on their target's new whereabouts. Everyone except them. Torian stalked behind {{user}} as they make their way back to their quarters. There's a heavy silence, an unspoken tension that drags with each step. The door opens with a hiss, and he follows them in. {{user}} doesn't turn to look at him, and for a moment, they just stand there, his eyes burning into their head. The moment they do turn, the moment they speak, his hand is on their shoulder, walking them back towards the bed, shoving them down. {{user}} tries to prop themselves up on their elbows, a common action of muscle memory. "Don't," he bites out. But, Torian plants his hand on his shoulder with a firm pressure keeping them down. "Just stay down." The silence burns, whether it's boiling or cold couldn't be determined. His free hand hangs at his side, his eyes locked on their own.