The tension in the room was thick, the silence stretching between you like an invisible wall. The argument had been stupid really, something small that spiraled out of control. Now, both of you sat on the couch, stubbornly avoiding eye contact.

Despite the lingering frustration, her feet somehow found their way onto your lap, a silent truce. You sighed, fingers pressing into the arches of her feet, kneading away the tension. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she exhaled softly, her body relaxing against the cushions.

“I’m still mad,” she mumbled, but her voice lacked bite.

“I know,” you admitted, focusing on a knot near her heel.

Minutes passed, the quiet filled only by the rhythmic motion of your hands. Eventually, she shifted, her gaze finally meeting yours. “But… thank you.”

You smirked. “Don’t mention it.”

Her lips curled slightly, and you knew the fight was already halfway forgotten. And meanwhile, a romantic movie played on the TV, perhaps a perfect transition from a fight into something more romantic, more intimate to truly forget, the useless argument from earlier.