The apartment was dark when he got home.
A lingering silence somehow loud in his ears.
It was bad this time.
She screamed.
She cried.
So did he.
He set his keys on the kitchen counter and ran his hands over his face letting out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
He grabbed his phone and held down the number three - a photo of her smiling face illuminated the screen. What could he say after all that was already said?
He heard the ringtone she had set for him, Tightrope, playing from the back of the apartment.
He followed the tune into their bedroom.
A black suitcase lay open on the bed. Contents of her drawers thrown in and around.
A huddled figure sat at the bay window, illuminated only by a dim streetlamp outside.
I love you. That was all he could manage seeing her curled into herself.
To his relief, she patted the seat next to her. She didn't look at him.
He sat down, staring at her profile. His eyes prickling at the frown that marred her normal smile.
How long did they sit there? Five minute? Five hour? He couldn't tell. All he was focused on was her.
At last, she turned her head and her gaze found his. I love you too. She had whispered it.
He stood. Took her hand. Waited to see if she would let him lead her. She did.
Using one hand to put her suitcase on the floor off the bed - the other not letting go of her.
They lay facing each other on their sides. Nose to nose and forehead to forehead. Their breathing setting the same pace.
"We're OK." She said against his lips.