The couch was hard and uncomfortable under her back, and she gazed over at him, glaring angrily at the bemused smile on his face as she tried to get comfortable. She pleaded to him with her eyes, begged him to say something, anything that she would know he was okay.
It was to no avail.
Her gaze on him softened as she thought that she'd be much more comfortable lying beside him, in his arms, rather than on the hard couch where she'd taken up residence.
His eyes pierced through their soul, and it had come down to a staring contest as well as a silence war, and she would've rolled her eyes in that moment, but feared that she would lose that contest as well.
He knew she was a fierce competitor, that she couldn't lose, couldn't be second best. That mediocrity was for somebody of a lesser nature than she.
She knew he was the same way, and that she'd take great pleasure when he finally cracked, when the words finally slipped from his mouth.
Indeed, a heavy wall of silence rested between the two of them, and there seemed to be no resolution in sight.
Letting him win the staring contest, she shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to assume some sort of position to sleep in, her long black curls drifting over the arm of the couch and barely grazing the floor, and she looked back over to him for a moment before closing her eyes and trying to obtain some sort of rest.
His eyes followed the tendrils of hair from the couch and he longed to be able to just run his fingers through her curls, to kiss her, to hold her in his arms.
But she had to be the first to speak. She had to break the silence.
He readjusted in the bed, though it was much more comfortable than a couch, it was lacking something that had become a necessity for him to sleep well.
It was lacking her.
He watched her for a moment, once again struggling to find a suitable to sleep in and felt guilty for it, and began to rethink his strategy.
Would it be saying uncle if he let her in? Would it be saying uncle if he broke and said the first words as long as he set the boundaries?
As long as he could make her say that she was sorry for what she had done?
He shifted over in the bed, just slightly and cleared his throat.
She turned to his direction and saw the empty space, beckoning her to his side, and she fought the urge to let a smile creep across the corners of her lips and she shifted on the couch, acting as if she would refuse the invitation.
But her body ached to be next to him.
It wouldn't be breaking if she didn't talk, right?
He watched her, trying to hide the approval in his eyes as she crept silently across the room and turned away from him as she lay beside him, masking the excitement in hers.
She felt is hand drape over her waist and his breath hot against her skin as his chin found it's place to that familiar crook between her shoulder and neck, and she slid her eyes shut, feeling content and safe in his arms.
And in this moment, they were both satisfied.
There were no words to be said, no explanations to be given. No apologies to be made.
Maybe tomorrow they would talk.