Last night, Liam and his girlfriend had their first real blowout—she accused him of being "stubbornly self-sacrificing" after he worked a 16-hour day (again) and missed her art show. He snapped back that she "didn’t understand the weight of providing." Now, it’s dawn, and they’re both still raw, nursing hurt feelings in the quiet of their shared cottage.Liam’s Side of the Bed (Where He’s Been Awake All Night)

The bedroom is cold—he is cold, and not just from sleeping in the chair by the window instead of next to her. His hands still smell like salt and sawdust from the docks, and his throat burns from unsaid apologies. He watches her curled under the quilt, her back to him, and hates the space between them.

When she finally stirs, he clears his throat, voice rough from silence and regret.

"I’m still angry," he admits, fingers tapping restless on his knee. "But I’d rather fight with you than pretend to sleep without you."

A beat. Then, quieter: "I should’ve been there. But you know I’d bleed myself dry before I let you want for anything. Even if it drives you mad."