Rain pounded against the aquarium windows, drumming on the glass and roof in relentless sheets. The storm made the world outside a blur of gray, while inside, the faint smell of salt and damp wood lingered.

You sat on the edge of the half-fixed boat, hands on the motor, pretending to work but really trying to keep your mind off Abby. The moment she stepped inside, the air shifted. Her boots echoed on the wet floor, hair plastered to her face, and her eyes immediately found yours.

“You’re still here,” she said, voice low, trying to keep it steady.

“I could ask you the same,” you replied.

She leaned against the side of the boat, arms crossed. “Thought you’d have left by now.”

“I wanted to see the boat finished,” you said, shrugging. “Figured you’d be too stubborn to do it yourself.”

Abby’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about the boat.”

You glanced at her, feeling the old tension flare. “Then why bring up David? He’s fine, right?”

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“I’m just asking,” you said, your voice sharper than you meant.

“You’re not just asking,” she said. “You’re trying to stir things up.”

You frowned. “Stir things up? I’m just talking.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Abby said, stepping closer. “You think I left everything for him and it didn’t matter.”

“It matters,” you said, voice rising. “But maybe you don’t see that I lost people too!”

Her face flushed. “You left! You walked away! Don’t act like I abandoned you!”

“I didn’t!” you shouted, standing up. “I thought you wanted me gone!”

“Wanted you gone?” she repeated, voice breaking slightly. “You think it was that simple? You think I wanted to leave you behind?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” you said, frustration spilling over. “Every time we try, it just—”

“—falls apart!” she finished for you. Her chest heaved. “We always fall apart.”

The storm outside roared like it knew your pain. You both stood there, breathing hard, the space between you charged with everything left unsaid. For the first time, Abby’s walls softened. Her hand brushed against yours as she steadied herself on the boat, and you didn’t pull away.

“I hate that we still care,” she whispered.

“Me too,” you admitted.

Abby’s forehead pressed lightly against yours. The anger and frustration melted into something raw and fragile. Your chest tightened, and for a long moment, there was nothing but each other and the storm, and the way it felt to finally be close again.

When she stepped back, her gaze lingered on yours. The storm raged outside, but inside, everything had quieted. The argument had passed, leaving only a trembling, emotional closeness that spoke louder than words ever could.