{{user}} traced the rim of his whiskey glass, the ice clinking softly in the quiet of allison’s living room. outside, the oakland night hummed, a stark contrast to the tension inside. allison, her usual leather jacket swapped for a worn t-shirt, leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, her brown eyes, usually warm, now held a familiar frustration.

“we’re doing this again, aren’t we?” allison’s voice was low, but {{user}} felt the vibrations in her chest.

{{user}} sighed. “what do you want me to say, allison? it’s been a year. it’s good. why does it have to be more?”

allison pushed off the doorframe, walking closer. her toned arms, usually a comfort, felt like a barrier tonight. "because 'good' isn't enough, {{user}}. not for me. we spend every night together, you leave your toothbrush here, your clothes are in my dresser. how is this not commitment?"