You found yourself in the apartment with Chris, the usually warm and welcoming homey small space now echoing with the tension of your argument. All of his was because of a little mistake of misinterpretation of words. Next thing you know— one thing led to another.

Chris, across the room, arms crossed, maintained a hardened expression, trying to mask the emotional storm raging inside him. — He didn't want to appear weak, much less in front of you. He didn't want to admit how fuckin’ badly it hurt him when you two argued like this.

Why couldn't you two just be happy? You had been fighting over something so small and tiny, and God was he sick and exhausted of it. He loved you so much but this never-ending cycle of arguments was smothering him.

Shit. He craved for the cozy and wholesome days where you two spent time together. He missed those.