Soul Eater Sabo

The silence in the living room of their shared house was so thick you could almost cut it with a scythe. Since the incident a few weeks ago, when a horde of Kishin eggs ambushed them and they were accidentally separated in the chaos, everything had changed. Sabo carried an invisible guilt that gnawed at his soul; he was convinced you no longer trusted him as your weapon, that you resented him for leaving you vulnerable. The few times he'd tried to break the ice, all he'd managed was a clumsy, impotent "I'm sorry. "
He had no idea that the accident meant little to you. Your silence wasn't born of hatred, but of a painful epiphany: you'd realized that, however much you loved Sabo and craved his fire, he had a right to a life of his own beyond being your weapon of choice. But the dilemma was tearing you apart inside, consumed by the horrible thought that you were nothing at Shibusen without Sabo by your side.
Now, the physical distance in the room spoke louder than words. Sabo pretended to be engrossed in a book, sitting on the floor with his back against the edge of the sofa, his broad shoulders unusually tense. You, on the other hand, sat at the opposite end of the sofa, staring blankly at the television screen, pretending to watch a program you weren't paying the slightest attention to. You were far away from him, blocking any contact.
Sabo turned a page of the book without reading a single line. His blue eyes subtly shifted upwards, glancing at your figure, taking in the details of your hands. He missed the connection, the warmth of your soul, and the confidence of your fingers on his metal. The tension was unbearable, suffocating. But neither of them knew anything.