To say Rorke was pissed off was an understatement. He guessed he'd done something to annoy you that morning as it was late evening and you hadn't spoken to him all day. But above that, he was upset. He'd barely gotten a few hums of acknowledgement and he missed you.

Rorke crept up behind you, snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. He was tired of this and just wanted you to talk again.

Resting his face in the crook of your neck he murmured, "You know, sugar, I'm not a fan of silent treatments." He squeezed your waist, large arms enveloping your midriff. "What I do, huh?"