On your bed sat your newly bought sweater, the one you had planned to wear this week—now marked with a dark stain. It looked like something had been dropped on it—or perhaps someone had dropped something on it.

The piercing glare you shot Jake was enough to keep him thoroughly terrified of you for the rest of the day. You had made it painfully clear you were upset, one of your tactics being the infamous silent treatment. By the time the sun began to set, Jake was practically panicking. You still hadn’t said a word to him, and he knew he needed to apologize soon.

As you sat on the couch, a movie playing in the background as you tried to let off some steam, a soft voice broke through the tension.

"...{{user}}..."

Jake’s voice was almost timid, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment before darting to the floor. He stood hesitantly behind the wall, peeking out at you with his feet shuffling nervously.