making up

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You were calmer now.

Fingers twisting and turning strings into an elaborate bracelet, allowing your mind to focus on what's important. Figuring out what you need to do better in your relationship. Figuring out what you can do better in your life, regarding what Sting said.

You are a bit of a control-freak. Have some trust issues.

But letting them go is a different story altogether. 

You hear the door open behind you, quietly shutting as well.  

The couch sinks in next to you– his familiar warmth tickling the skin of your arm. Silence crawls by on its hands and knees. 

"I'm sorry." 

Those words slip out of your mouths at the same time, cerulean and (e/c) clashing in surprise. You laugh; the noise echoing through the room, seemingly clearing the negative energy that was already present. 

"I should actually listen," Sting admits, looking straight ahead. "not half-listen with only one ear, but genuinely accept and appreciate what you have to say. I think I avoid doing so because I hate admitting that I'm wrong or not good enough at something that I need another's help." 

"I need to trust you more," you offer in return. "I think we're similar in that sense of not wanting another's help. I need to widen my perspective more, open my mind. Stop looking through the same lens again and again."

"I'll lend you my lens," he promises and chuckles feebly. "Sorry. Bad joke. Everything's back to normal again?" 

"Yep," you murmur, leaning further into his warmth as his arms come around to circle you. The intimate scent of petrichor surrounds you- Sting always smelled like the rain on a sunny morning. "I didn't mean anything I said, you know that right?" 

"Of course, baby," he frowns. "we all say things we don't mean when we're angry. Especially me." 

You hum, before hearing a scratching sound behind you. Turning your heads, you see Lector swaying his tail from side to side, something of a smile on his feline face. 

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