She moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal, her hands moving mechanically as she tried to ignore the tension between them. They ate in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.
Andros, perhaps sensing her discontent, offered to wash the dishes, a rare gesture that felt more like an obligation than an act of kindness. Celes accepted the offer with a muted nod, her mind already drifting back to the solace she had found in her studies.
At least, I have something to look forward to.
That night, as they lay in bed, Celes was roused from sleep by Andros’s groans of discomfort. He complained of a stomachache, his voice tinged with melodramatic pain.
Still half-asleep, Celes mumbled, "You should find something for yourself."
Andros turned to her, his face contorted with hurt and betrayal. "You used to care," he said quietly, his eyes searching hers for a hint of the woman who once went out of her way to look after him.
Celes, struggling to keep her eyes open, sighed. "Andros, it's late. I'm tired."
His expression hardened, the distance between them growing more palpable in the dim light. "I see," he whispered, turning away from her.