Every couple fought.

It was inevitable.

No relationship was made up of sunshine and whispered I love yous. There were disagreements, misunderstandings, moments where emotions ran too high and patience wore too thin.

That was normal.

But arguments with Megumi were different.

They were exhausting.

Not because he yelled—he rarely did—but because he was stubborn. Painfully, unbelievably stubborn. He would listen to every word you said, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on yours as though he was taking everything in. He'd let you finish without interrupting, without walking away, without raising his voice.

And then... nothing.

Nothing changed. Nothing got through. Once Megumi had convinced himself he was right, trying to change his mind was like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands.

Tonight was proving to be no different.

The room felt unbearably small, the silence stretching between you until it became suffocating. Yet you remained seated on the edge of the bed, arms folded tightly across your chest, refusing to look away. Neither of you was willing to back down.

His jaw clenched.

"Damn it!"

The sudden outburst made you flinch.

He turned to you, frustration etched across every sharp feature of his face, and pointed toward the spare bedroom door.

"You're so insufferable. Get out of my face."

The words echoed through the room before silence swallowed them whole.

You froze.

Not figuratively.

You genuinely couldn't move.

For a heartbeat, you wondered if you'd imagined it. Your ears rang, your chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt far colder than it had a second ago.

Megumi froze too.

The anger drained from his face almost immediately, replaced by something that looked dangerously close to regret.

He'd crossed a line.

In all the time you'd been together—through every disagreement, every stressful day, every pointless argument—he had never spoken to you like that. Never. Not once.

The silence became unbearable.

Megumi's lips parted, panic flickering across his face.

"...Wait."

His voice came out rough, uncertain.

"I didn't—"

You couldn't bear to hear whatever came next—not if it meant pretending those words hadn't already been said.

The spare bedroom would do for tonight then.

The anger that had been burning in his chest vanished in an instant, as if someone had dumped ice water over him.

...What?

His own voice echoed back at him, and for a second, he couldn't believe it had been his.

He stared at you.

You weren't arguing anymore.

You weren't speaking.

You had just... frozen.

His stomach dropped.

Shit.

No.

He hadn't meant—

His hand, still half-raised from pointing at the door, slowly fell back to his side. His fingers curled into his palm so tightly his nails bit into his skin.

What the hell had he just done?