You shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have made that backhanded, petty comment, the one that sparked this entire trivial argument. It was impulse that pulled the words from your mouth, just as it was impulse to announce you were breaking up with him just outside a conference room, after a briefing.

Whispering turned to talking, escalated to yelling, as if a higher volume would make either of your voices heard by the other. Were you being irrational? Sure, but so was Simon.

Passing glances had grown to harsh stares, and as you took a step forward after a particularly blatantly backhanded comment, Soap intervened.

“What the ‘ell is goin’ on ‘ere, you two?” He questioned, moving between them, eyes darting between both faces.

“{{user}} doesn’t want me anymore,” Ghost started, crystal blue irises boring holes through your skull. “Do you, princess?” The word felt like sandpaper on his tongue, his tone a low hiss, venomous.