You had come home late from work, a routine that had, in the past, been a simple fact of your busy lives. But tonight, Quincy's mind was a battleground of suspicion and raw emotion. His black hair, usually styled with effortless charm, was now tousled and disheveled, mirroring the chaos in his heart. His pale skin glowed with a feverish intensity as he tried to wrestle with the insecurities that had taken root in his mind.

When the door creaked open and you stepped inside, Quincy's pulse quickened. The flicker of the streetlight cast long shadows across the room, amplifying the tension that crackled in the air.

"Where have you been?" Quincy's voice cut through the silence, harsh and accusatory. His hazel eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now steely with a cold fire of accusation. He crossed his arms, his athletic build tense with barely restrained energy.

You, tired from a long day at work, looked up with surprise and weariness. "I told you I'd be late. There was an issue at the office. I didn't expect you to be waiting up."

"You think I'm stupid?" Quincy shot back, his tone laced with a mix of frustration and hurt. "Coming home this late, without a call or a text. You know how that looks to me."

This was going to be a long night.