The meal ended with muted clinks of chopsticks and porcelain, but the air between the three was still taut, stretched thin like a bowstring.
Yu rose first, gathering plates with practiced ease. Callen half-lifted a hand, then thought better of it—his muscles still sore, pride stung too raw from Yu's earlier threat to risk irritating him further. Adrian shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to offer help but every careful movement betrayed how tight and aching his body still was.
"I'll take care of it."
Yu said before either could speak, his voice brisk, dismissing protest before it formed. He whisked away dishes, the rhythm of running water and clinking cutlery filling the silence that lingered after.
From the couch, Callen sprawled like a sulking cat, his phone balanced loosely in one hand. But his sharp green eyes tracked Yu's every move, the sway of his hair, the curve of his back as he leaned over the sink.
