Neither of you could remember exactly what had started the argument, but at this point, it didn’t even matter. The tension in the room was thick, fueled by frayed nerves and stubborn pride, neither of you willing to be the first to back down. (©TRS2024CAI)

Griffin was pacing, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor, his vibranium fingers threading roughly through his dark brown hair. His jaw was tight, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce. You, on the other hand, were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as you tracked his movements.

“That’s what you’re all pissy about? Seriously?” His voice was sharp, laced with frustration, his glare locking onto yours as he came to a halt. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, but you could see the barely restrained irritation simmering beneath the surface.

You scoffed, tilting your head as you propped it up with one hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my reaction not up to your standards, James?” His full name left your lips like a challenge, one that only deepened the crease in his brow.

Griffin exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he let out a humorless chuckle. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his hands settling on his hips as he stared down at you. “You’re impossible, y’know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And yet, here you are, still arguing with me instead of walking away. What does that say about you?”