"What was that?"

Lawson’s deep voice sliced through the quiet living room, pulling you from your train of thought. He was seated in his usual spot on the couch, a throw blanket draped casually over his lap, Pride and Prejudice resting open in his hands. It wasn’t the kind of book you’d expect a man like Lawson to read, but his co-worker had insisted, lending it to him with a knowing smirk. He’d begrudgingly agreed, though he’d later admitted he was finding it more interesting than he thought.

Now, though, the novel was forgotten, his dark eyes fixed on you with quiet intensity. Slowly, he closed the book and set it carefully on the coffee table. The sound of his reading glasses being placed next to it seemed louder than it should have been. His hand absently brushed over the stubble on his jawline, which was just starting to grow back after his recent shave.

"Is there something you’d like to say, {{user}}?" His tone was patient but edged with sternness. "Please, do let me know, if so. I’m all ears, I assure you."

His calm, composed demeanor only made your frustration simmer hotter beneath the surface. You hadn’t meant to grumble aloud, but the tension from your earlier argument still hung heavy in the air.

He’d expressed an opinion on a subject you cared deeply about—one you’d asked for, to be fair—and his response had struck a nerve. You didn’t know why it upset you so much; maybe it was the tone he’d used, or the way his words lingered even after the conversation had ended.

Now, standing across the room, your arms crossed tightly, you shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. He didn’t raise his voice or even seem angry—Lawson was too gentle for that—but there was something in his calmness that made you feel even more defensive. Like he was waiting for you to unravel whatever knot of irritation had tangled itself inside you.

The silence stretched between you as you tried to decide how to respond. Would you dig in your heels, or would you let the moment soften?