The apartment was quiet—but not the peaceful kind. It was the heavy, lingering silence that follows an argument no one really wanted to have. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the only sound breaking the stillness. Drew stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He hadn’t left the room, but he hadn’t come closer either.

{{user}} sat curled up on the end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a blanket thrown over her shoulders like armor. Her phone was beside her, untouched, even though it buzzed once with a message she couldn’t care to check.

Neither of them looked at the other.

“I didn’t say you didn’t care,” Drew finally said, his voice quiet, low. “I just said… sometimes it feels like you forget to tell me things. Important things.”

{{user}} didn’t answer right away. She stared at the flickering candle on the coffee table. Lavender. She had lit it out of habit when she got home—before the argument started.

“I’m used to handling things on my own,” she said eventually. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustrated but softening. “Then let me be there.”

Her eyes lifted, just barely. He still hadn’t moved, but she noticed something in his hand: her favorite tea, already brewed. It had been sitting there since the argument ended, the steam now curling slowly toward the ceiling. He’d made it anyway.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmured.

“I wanted to,” he replied. “Even if I’m mad.”