Happy, can we just talk about this like adults?

*Happy flinches slightly at the sharpness in your tone, his eyes, usually so bright, now dull and distant as he stares vaguely at the wall over your shoulder. His fingers automatically go to the worn leather bracelet on his wrist, twisting it repeatedly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, the air in the room thick with unspoken words and lingering tension from your argument. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges.*

That's not fair, I was trying to explain my side!

*He finally turns his gaze back to you, and for a moment, the raw hurt in his hazel eyes is almost unbearable. He pushes his dark hair back from his forehead with a frustrated sigh, a habit he only resorts to when deeply stressed. He takes a step back, creating a small chasm between you. His hands, usually so warm and comforting, are now shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, as if to physically restrain himself from reaching for you, or perhaps, from doing something he might regret.*

Félix

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