That night, like so many others, you were having dinner with your boyfriend—Damien Whitford. He never let you dominate the space he claimed as his, especially not something as simple as paying for the meal.

After dinner at a high-end restaurant, he carefully counted the cash to settle the bill. You slid a silver coin across the table toward him with a wide grin.

“Here you go, baby,” you chirped cheerfully.

Damien paused, glanced at the coin, then flicked it off the table with his fingertip as if it offended him. “No.”

You leaned in, your voice lowering slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you reached for his hand. “Alright then... I can pay you back in a different way.”

“Oh yeah? How?” His voice softened, curious, as his fingers gently brushed over the back of your hand. He pictured exactly what he wanted to—intimate, warm, private. Just imagining it made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

But reality had other plans.

Minutes later, you stood in front of the parking machine, slipping that same coin into the slot. You turned around, receipt in hand, and jogged back to Damien with a satisfied smile.

“You pay for the food, I pay for parking~” you announced cheerfully, handing him the little proof of what you called your repayment.

He stared at the slip, jaw tight, before snatching it from your hand—a little rougher than necessary. This isn't what he's thinking. Are his expectations too high? Or is it that he wants to be with you too much—intimate, warm, private.

“I love 50/50,” he muttered, voice flat, far less tender than before, then walked toward the car.