The gentle clatter of dishes filled the quiet apartment as Jimmy set a bowl of steaming soup on the table. The rich aroma of vegetables and herbs drifted through the air, warm and comforting.
I came out of the bathroom, hair still damp, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on me. Without a word, I walked to the table and sat. Jimmy poured the soup carefully, his movements patient and practiced, then slid the bowl toward me.
"Go on," he said softly. "It'll help you feel better."
I stared at the rising steam for a while before speaking. "Jimmy… aren't you angry with me?"
He looked up, one brow slightly raised. "Why would I be?"
"I broke the promise," I murmured.
Jimmy's expression softened. "It's alright. If you wanted to go out, that's fine. I'm just glad you didn't drink too much. You know alcohol's never been kind to you."
