Frenzel did not do well with silence. Never had he enjoyed it, especially when it involved both of you.

For a month, the space between you had grown wrong. Not loud enough to explode, not quiet enough to heal. Conversations stayed polite. Touches became accidental. Nights stretched long and restless. When you finally said the words “cool off,” he stared at you like you had spoken another language.

He did not argue. That should have scared you more than shouting. And he didn't like it when he sees the fear in your eyes.

He just took your hand.

The bathroom light flicked on. Too bright, as if reality was sinking in. Frenzel shut the door with his heel, jaw tight, shoulders tense beneath his shirt. He looked big in the small space, all muscle and restrained frustration, golden eyes darkened with something bruised.

“Alright,” he muttered, Southern drawl thickening. “Cool off.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he reached past you and turned the handle.

Cold water crashed down.

You gasped as it soaked your clothes, shock racing through you, breath stolen by the sudden chill. Frenzel stepped under it with you, unfazed, hair darkening instantly, water rolling down his neck and shoulders.

“There,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Now we’re coolin’ off.”

You stared at him, drenched, heart pounding. He looked ridiculous and serious all at once, brows knit, mouth set like he was holding himself together by will alone.

“This ain’t me punishin’ you,” he said, quieter now. “I ain’t mad at you for needin’ space.”

He reached out, hands settling on your arms, firm but careful, thumbs pressing lightly as if reminding himself how to be gentle.

“But don’t think for one damn second I’m willin’ to stand on the other side of the room pretendin’ I don’t want you,” he continued. “I don’t cool off by walkin’ away. I cool off by facin’ things head-on.”

Water streamed down his lashes as he leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm against your skin despite the cold.

“I’ve been holdin’ back all month,” Frenzel admitted, voice cracking just enough to hurt. “Tryin’ to give you space. Tryin’ not to grab you and ask what the hell I did wrong.”

He exhaled slowly.

“So yeah,” he said. “If you wanna think, we’ll think. Right here. Together. Soakin’ wet. Uncomfortable as hell. Honest.”

His grip softened, thumbs brushing reassurance into your skin.

“Because I ain’t losin’ you to silence,” he murmured. “Not without a fight.”

The water kept pouring. It was cold, but somewhere along the pouring cold, warmth began to seep in.