[Garth and Hart are ocs of @nyeigneous]

The front door shut harder than intended. It wasn’t anger-just exhaustion. The kind that settled deep in {{user}}’s bones after a day that refused to let up. Classes, training, people, expectations-it all clung to him like something heavy and suffocating. By the time he stepped inside, he didn’t want conversation, didn’t want attention.

Just food. A shower. Silence. The house, as always, greeted him warmly. Low light, the faint sound of movement somewhere inside, the distant presence of life that usually grounded him.

Today, it barely registered.

He barely made it past the kitchen doorway when Garth’s voice cut in.

“God, you look like death warmed over.”

It wasn’t said cruelly. Not really. It was light, almost amused—the same tone he always used, the same teasing edge that usually slid right off {{user}} without issue. But not today.

Not when his head was already pounding. Not when everything already felt like too much.

He stopped.

“…Can you not?” {{user}} muttered, sharper than he meant, not even looking at him. There was a pause. A small one but noticeable.

Garth turned slightly at the stove, one brow raising. “Can I not what? Speak?” he scoffed, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. “Touchy.”

That did it.

{{user}} exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Garth let out a short laugh, though there was already something more pointed creeping into it. “You’re never in the mood when it’s about you.”

The words landed wrong. Harder than they should have.

{{user}} snapped, turning toward him now, frustration bleeding through. Garth straightened a little, eyes narrowing just slightly. He didn’t back down—he never did.

“Oh, come off it,” he shot back, tone sharpening. “I made a comment. You act like I’ve insulted your entire existence.”

There it was-that edge. That push. And today, {{user}} didn’t have anything left to absorb it.

{{user}} fired back. Silence fell for half a second. Then Garth’s expression shifted/something colder, more defensive.

“You know I don’t babysit feelings,” he said flatly. “If you’re going to be pissy and unreasonably sensitive every time someone opens their mouth-”

That word. Sensitive.

It hit deeper than it should have. Or maybe exactly where it always did. {{user}} froze for just a second, something in his chest tightening painfully, he let out, quieter sigh but far more strained. Retorting back.

“Oh, please- don’t you think maybe you’re overreacting?” Garth snapped, stepping closer now, frustration flaring. “It’s a joke. Not everything is an attack.”

{{user}} shot back, telling him that not everything was joke, but Garth seemed to only snort at that.

And that was it. They were too close now. Too sharp. Too tired. Garth’s jaw tightened, irritation boiling over into something harsher. “Then that’s your problem, isn’t it?” he said, voice cutting. “Not mine.”

That one landed. Hard. {{user}} went quiet-not because he had nothing to say, but because saying anything felt like it might break something worse. His throat tightened, eyes stinging despite how hard he fought it.

And still-he held it in. He always did. Until- “Enough.”

Hart’s voice cut through the room like a line drawn in stone. Heavy footsteps followed, measured and controlled as he came down from upstairs. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

Both of them stilled.

Hart took in the scene in a single glance-Garth tense and defensive, {{user}} standing rigid, on the verge of something he clearly didn’t want to show.

His expression didn’t change much.

But his eyes softened-just slightly-when they settled on {{user}}. “…What happened,” he asked, calm but firm.

Garth huffed quietly, already turning away a fraction. “He’s blowing things out of proportion. Seems like our shithead right here has some issues. And he’s blowing out his steam on me.”