{{user}} hated being angry. It never felt right, never sat comfortably beneath the skin. Sometimes it came out quiet, through long silences that stretched for hours. Other times it burned like fire, quick and sharp, spilling out before they could stop it. And sometimes, it came out as something else entirely — a hollow sort of ache that left them quiet but cold.

Rodrick, his boyfriend of nearly four years, had somehow managed to spark that feeling tonight. The calm, mellow, always-high {{user}} was finally, undeniably pissed.

It was supposed to be Valentine’s Day. {{user}} had actually planned something for once — their favorite movie, the one they’d both waited a year to see, followed by dinner, a night in, maybe a little something more if the mood carried. Just them. No chaos. No bandmates.

But of course, Rodrick’s friends had shown up at the theater. Loud, laughing, throwing popcorn, making jokes the whole time. And instead of telling them to buzz off, Rodrick had invited them to sit with them. Within minutes, soda was spilled, someone tripped, and security kicked them out halfway through the movie.

{{user}} didn’t get a refund. The tickets had drained the last of his paycheck. The dinner reservation was gone. The night was shot.

Now, they were in the car. The road blurred under the headlights, the hum of the tires filling the silence that sat between them. {{user}} drove slower than usual, eyes red, the high softening the edge of his anger but not erasing it.

Rodrick sat beside his boyfriend, picking at his chipped black nail polish, sneakers tapping the floorboard. Every few seconds, he glanced over, trying to read the silence. He knew what it meant. He’d seen it before.

After a few minutes, he finally spoke. His voice was low, trying to sound casual but not quite pulling it off. “So… about what happened back there,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “yeah, that was my bad.”

He looked over, smirking just a little, like he thought maybe joking would make it better. “I mean, the popcorn thing was kinda funny, though. Until we got kicked out.”

Seeing {{user}} didn’t laugh, he looked out the window, sighing through his nose. “Alright, yeah. I messed up,” he said again, voice softer this time.

Rodrick leaned back in his seat, frowning slightly. He hated when {{user}} was mad at him. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t the kind of fight you could fix with a dumb joke or a song. This one actually stung. Still, Rodrick tried again

“Okay, but… tacos? The ones by the mall? You can’t stay mad after bomb tacos.” He offered, expression also softer to try bringing his boyfriend back around.