Matthew

You and Matthew were in the car returning from a family dinner. You'd had an argument over something trivial, but for him, it had been the last straw. He wore a hard expression, his eyes glued to the road; his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, making the veins in his arms stand out slightly. You, with your arms crossed in the passenger seat and a look of regret on your face, tried to talk to him gently, but you only made things worse.

"It's no use wanting to talk to me now, and you know it. Before you want to have a conversation, you need to think about how to be less immature."

He spoke coldly and curtly.