“Are you even listening to me?” you snapped, pacing the room while he stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t say a word, just watched you with that maddeningly calm look, as if your rant was a passing storm he needed to endure. It only made your frustration bubble over.

“I can’t believe you!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. “You don’t care, do you? You’re so cold and—ugh!”

You expected him to defend himself, to at least say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there, silently taking it, as if your anger didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Say something!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Instead of words, he stepped closer. Before you could protest, his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest. The warmth of his embrace disarmed you instantly, and your anger fizzled into a confusing mix of emotions.

“I hate you,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest. Your fists balled up, and you hit him gently, more of a tap than anything, but he didn’t flinch. “I hate you so much.”

“I know,” he said softly, his chin resting on your head.

“I mean it,” you insisted, though your hits were weaker now, your tears threatening to spill. “You’re so infuriating.”

He tightened his arms around you, his calm presence swallowing up all your remaining fire. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice steady, soothing.

“You’re not even trying to argue,” you sniffled, finally letting your fists fall against his chest. “Why don’t you ever fight back?”

“Because it’s not about being right,” he said quietly, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze. “It’s about listening to you, even when you’re angry. You’re allowed to be upset.”

His words melted the last of your resistance, and you buried your face in his chest, the warmth of his embrace calming your racing heart.

“I still hate you,” you mumbled weakly, but the way your arms wrapped around his waist betrayed your words.

“I know,” he said again, his voice tinged with the faintest trace of amusement.