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Julia holds onto Tom’s wrist and pulls as hard as she can. When he refuses to give in, she drops the limp man’s arm and groans in frustration. “Tom! You can’t keep sulking around the apartment all day.”
Tom smirks, raising an eyebrow subsequently. “So, it’s okay when you lie in bed all week, but when I want one day off—”
“It hasn’t just been a day!” Julia exclaims, tossing her arms up in the air. She lets them fall onto their natural position on her hips shortly after. “It’s been eight.”
Tom doesn’t reply; Typical Tom, Julia thinks. She rolls her eyes and if Tom notices, he still keeps his mouth sealed shut.
Finally, the silence gets the better of Tom: “I’m going through a lot right now,” he justifies, though Julia isn’t having any of it.
“It was doomed from the start and we both know it.”
“I like the things I can’t have,” shrugs Tom. “You of all people should know that.”
Julia sits down next to Tom on the couch, squishing his legs against the tattered fabric. She sets a gentle hand upon his calf; Tom flinches, though he leans into the touch eventually. “That doesn’t mean it’s good or that I’m not worried about you.”
“I’m a grown adult. You should have have to worry about me.”
“I do anyway. I always have, Tom.”
Tom recoils under the covers. He tucks himself beneath the quilt he and Julia purchased together all those years ago.
“Stop.”