You guys have been together for a few months — long enough that you know each other’s rhythms, but still new enough that everything feels just a little fragile. Like you guys are still figuring out how to hold each other without squeezing too tight.

Its the kind of couple who don’t post much. Not because you’re hiding anything, but because your moments are quiet — late-night talks on the couch, you wearing his hoodie, the way he always finds your hand first when things go wrong.

And today, something did go wrong…

He got a red card and he would be missing the next game which was very important to him.

Dean didn’t say a word the entire drive home.

You offered — twice — to talk, to cook, to distract him. He just shook his head. Said he was fine. But you knew better.

So you gave him what he said he needed: space.

Now, an hour later, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor, still in his hoodie from the stadium. He hadn’t even touched the food you left on the table.

You watched him from the doorway for a second before stepping in quietly.

“I know you’re mad at yourself,” you said, voice soft but sure. “But you don’t have to shut me out to deal with it.”

He didn’t move.

“I lost my head. Got sent off like a rookie. I embarrassed myself.”