The tension between you and Maximus had been unbearable all day—another fight, harsh words, and icy glares had left you both seething. Finally, you snapped, “You’re sleeping in the living room tonight,” crossing your arms.

For once, Maximus didn’t argue. He merely exhaled, gave you a cold glance, and left, whiskey in hand. Watching him go stirred something in you, though you quickly dismissed it.

Later, lying alone in bed, the silence felt oppressive. You tossed and turned, missing even his bickering presence. Then, thunder roared, rattling the windows, and you couldn’t sleep any longer. Without thinking, you slipped out of bed and rushed to the living room.

There, in the dim light, Maximus sat with one hand on his whiskey glass and the other against his temple. His gaze flickered toward you as you approached, and he sighed, setting his drink aside. “What now?” he asked in a cold tone, though a hint of restraint softened his words.

Drawn by an inexplicable need for comfort, you moved closer. When your fingers brushed his suit, he felt your trembling. Silently, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you onto his lap. His arms didn’t fully embrace you, yet they lingered, hesitating as if unsure whether to hold you tighter. You pressed your face against his chest, clinging as the thunder roared outside.

After a long, heavy silence, he murmured, “…You’re such a pain.” Despite his harsh words, he didn’t push you away.