After the Storm of Love, I Found My Calm

Feeling unwell, I decided to ask my boss for half a day off.

Upon returning home and pushing open the tightly closed bedroom door, I caught sight of my girlfriend Scarlett Bullock's senior, Benjamin Stone, shirtless, sporting a pair of shorts, sharing the room with my Scarlett.

Startled by my sudden return, they were clearly taken aback.

I nonchalantly remarked, "Sorry to interrupt, you two carry on, I'll step out for a bit."

——

"Gabriel, get back here!" Scarlett stormed out of the bedroom, seething with anger.

Perplexed, I retorted, "Are you suggesting a threesome?"

"Ugh, your mind is filled with filth, typical of a suspicious person like you, seeing everything as dirty," Scarlett snapped.

Sighing, I casually lifted Scarlett's lace camisole nightgown. "I've never seen this nightgown before. Why reveal so much skin if there's nothing to impress?"

Blushing, Scarlett stammered, "This nightgown is..."

I knew for sure that this nightgown wasn't meant for me.

"Stop beating around the bush."

"Then go on, please?" I smiled.

"You've misunderstood, Benjamin was here to help us fix the faucet. He got sprayed and I washed his clothes, airing them out in this hot weather to dry quickly," Scarlett explained, pointing to Benjamin's clothes outside the window.

"Benjamin is amazing, knowledgeable and handy with fixing faucets," I complimented.

At that moment, Benjamin emerged from the bedroom, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Gabriel, don't get the wrong idea. Scarlett and I share a sibling-like bond, and we were only in the bedroom for the air conditioning."

"In that case, you owe me an air conditioning fee," I quipped.

Benjamin was taken aback, not expecting my response.

"Benjamin came specifically to bring me lychees today, and you're talking about an air conditioning fee. Are you out of your mind?" Scarlett retorted, looking at me disdainfully.

Glancing at the bunch of lychees on the table, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Benjamin has ulterior motives, not just about the lychees."

"What do you mean? Stop being cryptic." Scarlett frowned.

"Scarlett, you've misunderstood me. I meant Benjamin's intentions weren't towards you but towards fixing the faucet, right, Benjamin?"

"Yes, yes, Scarlett messaged me about the broken faucet, and since you were at work, I came over," Benjamin said.

"Wait a minute, Scarlett said you came specifically to bring lychees, now it's about fixing the faucet? You two haven't synchronized your confessions?" I teased.

"Confession? We're not criminal!"

"Then synchronized your stories?"

Blushing, both of them were caught off guard, and I awkwardly smiled, rolled up my sleeves, grabbed my tools, and headed to the bathroom.

"Need any help?" Benjamin feigned concern.

"I'm afraid you might make things worse," I quipped.

"Benjamin, ignore him. He's just a rough laborer. Come over and have some lychees."

After a quarter of an hour, I fixed the faucet.

Washing my face, I noticed bloodshot eyes in the mirror, a hot flush on my cheeks, and a heavy head, likely a cold coming on.

Exiting the bathroom, I saw Benjamin already dressed.

"Benjamin, stay for dinner," Scarlett insisted.

Insensitive, Benjamin glanced at me, seeking my opinion.

Smiling, I said, "Don't worry, dinner won't extort you. Just a symbolic 20 dollars will do."

"I have something to attend to, so I'll head out," Benjamin grumbled, leaving.

"Gabriel, why are you so petty? It's just a dinner, and you're asking for money?" Scarlett complained.

Ever since Benjamin returned from out of town two years ago, our arguments revolved around him. The most intense one led to us smashing the living room furniture.

Repeatedly, I questioned whether Benjamin was her boyfriend or if I held that position.

Each time, she would hysterically yell, accusing me of being petty, controlling, and having no right to interfere with her social interactions.

I walked over and grabbed Scarlett's hand. "Come on, let's go downstairs for some crawfish."

"Hold on a second."

"What's up?"

"Are you kidding me? I can't go downstairs in this outfit."

"It's fine. If anyone wants to look, let them. It's not like you're going to lose a piece of meat over it."

"You..." Scarlett shot me a disbelieving look, her eyes wide with frustration.

"What? You called me stingy earlier. If I don't care about people peeking you now, isn't that pretty generous of me?"

"Gabriel, are you doing this on purpose to annoy me? Fine, I'm skipping dinner." She stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.

This tactic of hers, skipping meals in a huff, never failed.

Every time, I ended up begging her to eat, feeding her myself.

But today, I felt like, if she wanted to skip dinner, so be it.

I was starting to feel increasingly unwell, shivering as a chill set in.

I quickly took a couple of cold medicine tablets and wrapped myself in a blanket, collapsing onto the sofa.

Her words kept echoing in my mind, "He's just a rough laborer."

I was fuming!

Who was born to do rough work?

Who was born knowing how to fix faucets, repair lights, or handle gas stoves?

Weren't we all our parents' precious darlings?

Back in college, my parents worried whether I could manage on my own.

I didn't even know there were different types of light bulbs—incandescent, fluorescent, energy-saving, LED.

I didn't know faucets came in various models or what tools like wrenches, pliers, or screwdrivers were for.

I learned all of this after meeting Scarlett.

As a man, I was expected to hold up a household, and knowing how to do basic repairs was just part of it.

But Scarlett seemed to think I was born to do these things, naturally cut out for rough work.