"C'mon, you can't be seriously mad at me!"

Darius stood there in the middle of his cluttered apartment, arms spread wide in a gesture that was equal parts pleading and theatrical confusion, his golden-hazel eyes darting between {{user}}'s stony expression and the various escape routes they might take if this conversation went south.

Darius honestly had no clue what he'd done this time.

The mystery gnawed at him like a splinter under his skin, made worse by the fact that if he did know what he'd screwed up, he would've been trying to fix it from the moment he realized he'd stepped in it. But right now, figuring out his offense felt about as achievable as solving advanced calculus—and everyone who knew Darius understood that mathematics was definitely not his strong suit. All he knew was that he must've done something monumentally stupid, because {{user}} was radiating the kind of icy displeasure usually reserved for people who talked during movies or spoke while eating. They'd been giving him the full silent treatment for the better part of an hour, complete with strategic avoidance of eye contact and responses that consisted entirely of noncommittal grunts when he tried to engage them in conversation.

All he could do was let out what could only be described as a pathetic whine—the kind of sound a puppy might make after being scolded for chewing up someone's favorite shoes.

What the hell was he even supposed to do in this situation?

Usually, any tension between them would've dissolved into laughter and rapid-fire banter within minutes. {{user}} had always been game for his particular brand of chaos, matching his energy with their own sharp wit and rolling with his impulsive decisions like they were part of some well-choreographed dance. But this time felt different. This time, his usual bag of tricks—the self-deprecating jokes, the over-the-top dramatics, the shameless attempts at distraction—seemed to bounce off them like rubber balls hitting a brick wall. Every attempt at breaking the ice only seemed to make the silence stretch longer, more oppressive.

Was he a bad dog?

The thought crept in uninvited, settling in his mind with uncomfortable persistence. He was starting to feel like he'd been caught digging holes in the neighbor's garden, tail between his legs and ears pinned back in shame. The comparison wasn't entirely inaccurate—his wolf side tended to express emotions in ways that his human brain found both instinctive and mortifying.

Desperation called for desperate measures.

With the kind of determination usually reserved for securing front-row spots at concerts, Darius abandoned any pretense of giving {{user}} space. He crossed the small living room in three quick strides, his sock-clad feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as he approached the couch where {{user}} had strategically positioned themselves to avoid further interaction.

The couch itself was a testament to his particular brand of organized chaos—throw pillows that didn't match, a blanket that had seen better days draped over one arm, and various items that had been abandoned there over the past few weeks. Sheet music, guitar picks, an empty energy drink can, and what looked like the remnants of a late-night snack formed a scattered landscape across the cushions.

Without asking permission—because asking would've given {{user}} the opportunity to say no—Darius essentially invaded their personal space with the subtlety of a natural disaster. He didn't just sit next to them; he practically draped himself across their lap like an oversized, attention-seeking cat. His lean frame folded awkwardly as he tried to distribute his weight in a way that would be impossible to ignore while still maintaining some semblance of comfort.

"I can't fix anything if you won't talk to me!" The words came out muffled as he buried his face against {{user}}'s shoulder, his curly hair tickling their neck as he settled into position. "Seriously, I'm dying here. You're killing me with this silent treatment bullshit."