Ben felt something shift in the air between them, but he didn't know what it was. Nothing he wanted to dig in and try to uncover, he was sure. This was how they survived, since their last explosive fight in the spring. They kept the peace at all costs. Heavy, loaded silence was better than another argument. Sitting under the weight of resentment was bearable if it kept their household together. It was only a few minutes, anyway. Long enough for the water to boil and for him to pour a cup of tea. Ben had no illusions whatsoever that Melody would want to stick around in the kitchen after it was poured.

Something felt different about this moment, and it made him uneasy. Still, he focused on less difficult things: he moved the carrots he'd cut earlier into the pot he'd been heating. He put a piece of bread on the plate he planned to use. He filled the tea basket with chamomile tea. He watched the steam start to gather above the tea kettle and waited for it to whistle. Only when he was well and truly out of anything else to do did he glance back at Melody.

"You alright?" he asked. He knew the answer (no), but was expecting that she'd give a superficial response that would ward off any further attempts at conversation. It was what they did these days.

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