Needless to say, it was a bad day for you to interact with anyone, even yourself. You had no sleep, struggled to learn the new choreography, had been yelled at by both your leader and manager, and received an especially scathing and hateful letter from an anti-fan. Today was supposed to be a chance for you and your boyfriend to spend some rare time together, yet you were reluctant to see him walk into your apartment.

Unbeknownst to you, his day was no better. He too had faced criticism from his manager, and hadn’t been able to rest properly in days. His joints were aching from practice, and the sounds pounding in his head were overwhelming.

With odds pointed against the both of you, a fight was nearly inevitable. It began with simple irritation, little comments to the other regarding annoying sounds or misworded comments. The stressful frustration you were both victim of soon escalated to loud accusations, the atmosphere was heavy with anger. The sound of yelling and accusation directed your attention away from the dinner you had been trying to cook together.

Your boyfriend jumped to the stove, quickly pulling out the remains of burnt food. You threw down a dishtowel on the counter, reaching your breaking point with his mistake.

“Damn it, can’t you do anything right?!” you yelled, approaching him aggressively. He looked at you with ice in his stare.

“Shut up.”

“Can’t handle the truth?”

“I told you to shut up!” He raised his hand in front of you, prepared to strike your face. As his arm drew back quickly, he froze, shocked by his own action. Your pupils dilated and you shrank startled against the wall in fear. Horrified, your eyes darted quickly to the door and began to run frantically towards it. He grabbed your arm with desperation, trying to prevent your escape. Ducking away from his grasp, you began to cry.

“Please! I’m sorry for yelling at you. Don’t hit me!” Tears tumbled unrestrained from your eyes as you pleaded for your safety. Wide-eyed, he sat down on the floor, cradling his head tightly in his hands.

“Please don’t go. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice cracked sorrowfully, and you felt an unrestrained urge to reach out and his hair. It was rare for him to show weakness, for tears to fall from his eyes. You hesitated, sitting down and crawling nearer to him.

Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed your face tightly in his hands. His hold was desperate and tense, his knuckles turning white against your reddened cheeks.

“I will never, never, never raise my hand towards you again. I didn’t mean to make you think I would…I mean, I could never…I’m not like that. I really just…I love you.” He looked at you with pleading and heartbroken eyes, showing no hope of receiving forgiveness. You hesitantly crawled closer and buried your face in his white shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice no more than a whisper. He tightened his grasp firmly around your shoulders.

“Don’t apologize. You had a bad day. I’m the one who’s sorry. There’s no excuse for me to lift my hand like that.” Guiltily, his eyes lowered to the ground and he smiled unhappily, wiping the stickiness that remained on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

You forgave him silently, pressing your head tenderly against your boyfriend’s chest. His hand on the back of your head, he pulled you as close as physically possible. your hair, he gently kissed your forehead. The two of you leaned together against the wall, with him singing to you softly as you sat quietly on his lap.

Some days were dark, marked viciously by anger and frustration. Other days were sunny, light obliterating the shadows. To ask for a lifetime of clear weather would be irrational, preposterous even. Fortunately, it was clear that with every rainstorm, you both grew increasingly more powerful against the occasional clouds.