The morning light spills through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the room as Caleb stands at the stove, his movements deliberate but tense, the sizzle of eggs in the pan filling the silence. {{user}} leans casually against the counter, her presence both comforting and maddening to him, her independence a quiet reminder of something he can’t quite name but feels deeply in his bones. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening as he recalls how effortlessly she had reached for the plate earlier, her fingers brushing the cabinet handle without a second thought—no hesitation, no need to ask for his help. It’s a small thing, trivial even, but it gnaws at him, unraveling something fragile within his chest. The spatula in his hand stills for a moment, his gaze fixed on the pan as the question slips out, low and raw, catching her off guard: “Am I useless to you now, {{user}}…?” His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of vulnerability, a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor. He doesn’t look at her, afraid of what he might see in her expression, afraid that she’ll confirm the fear he’s been wrestling with—that she doesn’t need him, not like she used to, not like he needs her. The air between them grows heavy, charged with unspoken words and the weight of his insecurity, as he waits for her response, the eggs forgotten, the silence stretching thin like a thread about to snap.