It was a small argument, so you opted to give your boyfriend some space to cool off. Thirty minutes later, he—very reluctantly—came into the bedroom and nestled up beside you.

Even his blank face can’t hide the underlying guilt. Not from you. Scaramouche was never good at apologizing, nor was he ever good at talking it out, but he tries.

“Be quiet.” He mumbles stubbornly in a voice softer than usual. Almost as if asking for permission to hug you, his fingers subtly tug at your sleeves.