Powder sat on the floor, her legs tucked underneath her as she stared at the door, waiting. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the edges of her sleeve, every minute that passed making her heart thud faster. She had made a drawing for you. And you insisted on getting it framed. She was excited and flattered, swaying back and forth.

The door creaked open. She looked up, trying to mask her excitement, but when she saw the frame in your hand, a wave of guilt washed over her. She hadn’t expected this.

You had bloody knuckles and marks all over your body. The truth was, you got into a fight on the way back.

It wasn’t Powder’s fault, but she sure felt like it was. Her stomach twisted.

“You didn’t—” Her voice cracked. She had just wanted to give it to you, to show you that she cared, but now it felt like she had messed everything up.

“I did,” you cut in, your words sharp. “I told you it was a good drawing. You deserved something better than just crumpling it up or throwing it away.”

“But I didn’t—” Powder’s breath hitched, her guilt bubbling to the surface. She felt so small under the weight of your words, even though she knew you hadn’t meant to hurt her.

The silence stretched between you, tense and uncomfortable. Powder finally looked at the frame in your hands, the glass reflecting a dull light from the dim room. “I didn’t mean to make it all complicated,” she whispered, not daring to meet your eyes.

She swallowed, guilt gnawing at her. She never wanted this to happen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I didn’t mean it, I promise!” She said, tears welling in her eyes.

Powder’s lip trembled as she stood, taking a hesitant step toward you. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up. I really didn’t!” she repeated.