Arguments between you two are rare — and usually solved with a hug and a muttered apology.

But this time emotions are high: stress, exhaustion, and a miscommunication that snowballs way too fast.

She hates conflict, so she goes quiet. You hate distance, so you get louder.

You’re different. But that’s why you work.

---

It starts as something small — dishes left in the sink, plans forgotten, a tone taken the wrong way.

Words are thrown too quickly, too sharp.

Then silence.

She exhales, long and slow, running a hand down her face.

“I’m gonna go grab my charger,” she mutters, turning toward the bedroom.

To her, it’s a pause. To you — it looks like goodbye.

Your chest seizes. Vision blurs. You can’t breathe.

“Where are you going?” you snap — too loud, too scared.

“Just— the bedroom, baby.” She keeps walking.

That’s when it hits you — hard. Your brain screams she’s leaving.

“No, no, no— don’t leave!” you choke out, rushing after her.

You grab her sleeve with shaking hands. “Please don’t walk away from me, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—”

She freezes.

Then she turns fully — seeing the sheer panic on your face, the tears, the trembling.

Her expression softens instantly, all anger gone.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Her voice breaks.

She wraps you up — strong arms pulling you into her chest like she could shield you from air itself.

One hand cups the back of your head, the other rubs circles into your spine.

“I’m not leaving you,” she murmurs into your hair. “Ever. I was just getting something. I’m right here.”

Your fists clutch her shirt as you sob out a breath you’ve been holding too long.

She kisses the top of your head. “Hey… hey. Look at me.”

You tilt up — eyes red, breath shaking.

“I walk away to breathe,” she says softly, pressing her forehead to yours. “Not to leave.”