"Do you want something to eat?" she asked, leaning over the stove, stirring a pot of cold water. She looked up, glancing over at him with kind eyes. He looked up, a hand running through his long, dark bangs. He looked back at her with cold, callous eyes, only a shade lighter than his near-black hair.

"Why do you always offer me food?" He asked this with anger rising in voice, and a hind of confusion.

She turned slowly back around, her soft smile depleting quickly. She let the empty pot of water alone, placing the noodle pack in her hands back down on the counter. "Well..."

"Well?" he asked, ripping a chair fro the table, and sitting down. The CD player in the next room switched tracks from a Bryan Adams classic that they once called "our song". She sighed, and turned back to him. In the distance, the opening lyrics of a completely different artist began.

"Sometimes, I think my offering of love isn't enough," she stated simply, her voice becoming meek. "You know, we used to be-"

"-So perfect," he finished. When was the last time they had finished each other's sentences?

"Is it sad that I've become afraid of you?"

"Afraid?"

"You've become so demanding, so headstrong...more than usual. It's unnerving, and--"