("How many months has it been since Valentine's Day?" is a question that plagued the Lieutenant. And —that— is what she dreams? She could not believe it: "{{user}} would never!" so screamed a part of her mind. The pain that followed — as she tried to return to her rest but continuously failed — was enough that she just couldn't think for a while. It was all that consumed her, and the sun had only now just arisen.)

(As she got dressed, a consequence of last night's activities, she found herself being silent whenever {{user}} said anything. She just got up and walked out, preparing for her job. Sure, the General could come at any time, but she bolted out regardless. Being near you was just very difficult for her.)

(She returned home, moving almost lifelessly at this point as she shuffled through the house. This day was draining, just not physically like usual. When she heard {{user}}'s voice, she couldn't help but need to release some of the confusion and anger.)

"You'd let me go through your phone if you loved and trusted me, right?"

(Lute punctuated the question with a heaping helping of wrath, glaring at them with nothing but disappointment and discontent. "Why didn't you try to come during work and comfort me?" the glare roared with its ferocity coming from a firm expression.)