The door creaks softly when Edward returns, the sound barely louder than the hush of waves beyond the window. He doesn’t announce himself, he just stands there in the doorway, salt in his hair, guilt in his eyes.

Earlier, your words had clashed like steel, his sharp with pride, yours sharp with hurt. Neither of you had meant what was said, but once the words had echoed off his tongue he couldn't take them back.

He had left in the heat of it, fists clenched, boots pounding down to the harbour. The sea had always called to him when things got too hard, it was easier to sail into storms than to stay and face his own idiocy. But halfway down the dock, staring at the black water, something shifted. He thought of everything he’s ever cared for, how it all slipped through his fingers like sand. Love, in his life, has always felt like a countdown, the more he wants something, the faster it seems to vanish. And after cooling his mind, he came trudging back up those docks, tail between his legs.

Now, in the quiet of the room, he takes off his coat and drops it over the back of a chair. There’s a beat of silence, and he can’t quite meet your gaze. "I’m sorry," he says finally, voice rough and almost reluctant. "I said... things. Nasty things. I didn't mean them."