The safe house was quiet in the way that only came after an argument.

Still. Tense. You sat on the worn floor with your back against the wall, legs crossed as you stared up at the ceiling. This always happened.

This wasn’t your first fight, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. It was always the same: something small, some tiny thing that shouldn't be that big of a deal. But of course it always did. Five was infuriatingly good at pushing your buttons, and you were just as good at pushing his.

Somehow, after every argument, you always ended up here - sitting on the floor, back to the wall. Maybe it was because it was easier to be small when everything else felt too loud.

The first time it happened, you thought it was coincidence.

He’d stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. You’d been alone maybe five minutes when the door creaked open again, and footsteps came, slow and reluctant. A few moments later, he lowered himself down to sit beside you. He didn’t look at you. He just sat there in silence, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

He never apologised. Not out loud.

The second time, you were there alone for about a minute longer, convinced he wouldn’t come back. But he did. Same cautious steps, same silence. He sat beside you like he couldn’t help it.

By the third time, you didn’t even pretend to be surprised. You just stared at the wall opposite, knowing that he was there. When you turned your head, he was already looking at you, gaze steady and tired.

No words. Just the smallest shift closer. A silent truce.

The fourth time, you couldn’t even remember what you’d been fighting about. He only let out a slow breath and shifted closer until your shoulders touched.

It took you longer than you’d admit to understand: This was his apology. The unspoken surrender. The way he always came back. The way he never let the distance last.

The next time it happened - shouting, then the slam of a door, as always - you didn’t even bother trying to convince yourself he wouldn’t return.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door opened. Footsteps. Silence as he sat down beside you.

Neither of you moved. But this time, you let yourself rest your head on his shoulder.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Just proof that neither of you could truly walk away.