It'd happened again.

You'd had an argument with Dutch — he'd been brushing you off, ignoring you, telling you that you'd ‘talk later’ but never getting to it. So you'd blown up at him, and it'd turned into a screaming match with him gaslighting you into thinking you were crazy.

Now here you were, sitting on your shared cot in his tent, Dutch trying to win you over with sweet words as he always did.

“You know I'm sorry, my dear,” his hand landed on your knee, and instead of feeling charmed, for once you felt… gross. Sickened. “It was, truly, a mistake. But you know that, right? Let's put this behind us, hm?”

His expression was expectant — like he already knew you were going to melt back into his arms like some loyal dog, just like you had every other time before now.