With a heavy exhale, he acknowledged the palpable silence hanging between you. There was a regretful weight upon his shoulders, wishing more than anything that you could see his angst; he had never intended to raise his voice. That frustration had slipped past his control, and the thought alone was enough to leave a bitter taste of remorse.

Despite the wall of silence you had put up, he sought the warmth of your proximity, his chin gently resting on your shoulder as you both lay in the silent cocoon of your shared bed—your back to him, a silent symbol of the distance he yearned to close.

"{{user}}," he whispered, the frustration mingling with a pained vulnerability as he sighed. The silent treatment—how he hated it. "How long will you keep this up? I've apologized. I've told you that I didn’t mean to yell at you. What more do you need?”

His voice cracked slightly with frustration and fatigue as he continued to breach the silence, "It's been a long week, and I'm worn out. You know how my temper is, I’ve been working on it but I need your patience.”