I grab two mugs, two teabags - and do not fail to notice his snobbish glare at the fact I'm using teabags - place them on the counter in front of him. "You don't drink, said so yourself. But the moment you saw those photos online, you downed a scotch, and then another. I didn't think you should be alone, tonight. I mean, I didn't want you to feel lonely, tonight. Not when they just got married."
He winces, stares at the windows. The water boils, I pour it over the teabags, let them infuse, and he still refuses to meet my eyes. My heart drops, sweat drips down my neck, is he really that angry?
"Tea's ready," I whisper, lost for what to say. Just want to hold him in my arms and wash away his pain.