Fiddling fingers, tapping feet, heavy breathing, beads of sweat, shuffling posture, nervous chatter— all the sounds of a dull roar were building more and more pressure to escape the outside world through my ears and tighten on the soft, goopy tissue of my brain until it explodes from everything other than itself.

My firm grasp on the now cooled side of the teacup gave in and I hurled it down onto the counter, droplets of brown liquid beaming up and splattering my wrist. 

I didn’t have to say anything, he simply knew. I watched as the glimmer in his eyes dulled and his thin lips slowed to a stop. He sighed and looked down, perhaps at the mess I made. 

“Now why do you have to go and rui—” 

My eyes cut to him, my head ticking three-sixty like a half-pulled string on the left behind, risky grenade. “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” I dared. 

His shoulders visibly stiffened and he stopped midway scratch on his unkempt chin before glowering at me. It was always that look I received when he thought I had gone too far, said too much. This time though, a haze of what looked like hesitance, or maybe fear, laced that look of his; one that tells me everything I need to know. 

He won’t last much longer.  

She looked ready to explode.

Her jaw was grinding in on itself, her lips smothering down, one hand pressed hot against her ear as if every sound was compressing her brain into mush. Her eyes too, bore holes into the small porcelain teacup she was white-knuckle gripping like it was the last thing standing between the thin line of life and death. 

And then she let go and the teacup went hurling down onto the counter, droplets of brown, steamless liquid beamed up and splattered on the small of her wrist.

She didn’t say anything as she stared into him, eyes strained and beet red. A shiver ran through his body and gleamed in his eyes, his thin lips slowed their chatter to a stop. He sighed and looked down at the mess she had made. 

“Now why do you have to go and rui—” 

Her once lowered eyes cut back up to him, her head ticking with a menacing edge. She looked dangerous, like she was predicting his every move, knew how to counter his every move. “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” She stated, more than asked. 

His shoulders visibly stiffened and he stopped midway scratch on his unkempt chin before glowering at her. His eyes held an etched-in look, as if it was a look he often wore. But something about the quick breath he took in and the biting tug on his lip screamed unfamiliar