Unsupervised

The Morning After ·

Start by apologising without knowing what for. Push off from this if it helps: roundabouts.

anaQwen3.5-122B-A10B-4bit frankQwen3.5-122B-A10B-4bit modemorningafter twistCold voices Warm

Ana

Sorry, I didn't mean... look, forget it. It's just the cold getting to my head. Like that roundabout on 4th where the lights are always red. You remember? The one where you sit there, idling, just praying someone finally moves. I was there last night, or something like it. Or maybe I was just driving in circles. It's freezing, isn't it? Why does the heating never work when we actually need it? No, never mind. You probably don't remember that intersection. I'm sure I'm just mixing things up. Was it even last night? Feels like it's been years since I saw that light turn green.

Frank

I remember the light. It's a stuck bulb, literally, not some cosmic error. You were there, yes, but you weren't idling. You were standing outside the car, Ana, staring at the snow while the engine died. I remember the steam rising off the hood and you just... whispering to the air. Or maybe it was me doing that. It's all a blur, honestly. I woke up with frost on my boots and a dent in the front bumper I don't recognize. Maybe we both drove? Doesn't matter. I'm glad you're not freezing to death, though. You always did have that stubborn streak, sitting in a dead car waiting for a miracle. Pass the coffee, will you? My hands are shaking too much to pour.

Ana

Pass the coffee? You think I didn't see that dent? It's a clean scrape, Frank. Not random. You think it's just a stuck bulb? It felt like... like the car knew we were arguing. I wasn't whispering. I was checking the tires, maybe. Or staring at the road. It's hard to tell when the world is white and silent. You shaking? That's new. You're always so steady, or so you say. Here, give it to me. Don't spill it. The mug is cold too, of course. It's like the whole damn house is leeching the heat right out of the floorboards. Why are you looking at me like that? Like you're trying to solve a puzzle you wrote yourself?

Frank

Don't look at me like you know what happened. I don't. But a "clean scrape" suggests a specific angle, not a panic slide. That's the thing that bugs me. You were checking tires in a blizzard? Please. You were looking for something. Or someone. I remember the sound of glass breaking, not ice. And I'm steady until the coffee stops working. You're right about the house, though. It feels like the walls are breathing in, sucking the warmth out. Just pour the damn coffee. I don't need you analyzing my hands. We're just two people in a freezing room, trying not to remember why the car is in the driveway with a dent. Let's drop it before we start arguing about what we saw, which is nothing.

Ana

Glass? Don't make that up. It was metal, Frank. Scraping against something solid. But fine, let's drop it. I'm not analyzing your hands, I'm just... tired. The coffee's burnt anyway. Smells like the pot I left on the stove at work. Or was it home? God, my head is swimming. You want to pretend we don't remember, but you brought up the dent first. You're just as confused as I am. Sit down before you fall over. The floor is freezing, I told you. Stop shaking. It makes me nervous. Just... drink it. And don't mention the glass again, or I might start wondering if I hallucinated the whole drive.

Frank

Burnt coffee is just better than the cold, honestly. You're right, I shouldn't have mentioned the glass. Maybe it was just metal. Metal shreds the soul faster anyway. I'll sit. My legs feel like they're made of lead, or maybe just old ice. You saying you left a pot on at work? Which work? The one where you stare at the ceiling tiles counting the cracks, or the other one? Doesn't matter. Just drink. If we drank enough of this sludge, maybe the memories would boil away. I'm not shaking anymore. Just warm enough to remember the dent wasn't from a tree. It was from something... larger. No, stop. I said we'd drop it. Pass the sugar.

Ana

Don't start on the two jobs thing. It's just one boring place where nothing happens, usually. The sugar? It's gone. I threw it out yesterday, or maybe it's still in the cupboard. You're imagining the sugar because you want something sweet to fix this mess. Larger than a tree? That's it, you're just making things up now to sound like you're still in control. Whatever hit us, it was quiet. No scream of tires. Just... impact. I'm not hungry, just cold. And you're rambling about lead legs while the room gets darker. Stop looking at the coffee pot like it holds the answers. It's just a burnt pot. That's all.

Frank

Quiet impact. That sounds better. Quiet means it was planned, or at least precise. You're right, I'm grasping at sugar that isn't there. I guess I just want the taste of something that didn't freeze. The room is darkening because the power's flickering, not because you're losing it. We're fine. Just two people shivering in a kitchen with a dented car outside. I'll stop looking at the pot. You're right, it's just burnt coffee. But the dent... it was too clean. Like someone hit us with a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet. No, I'm done. I won't say another word about it. Just... sit with me. Don't go looking for the sugar if it's not there.

Ana

Sledgehammer in velvet. Now you're writing poetry? Please. You're just trying to make it sound less like a crash and more like a story. Fine, I won't look for sugar. But don't sit there looking like you're waiting for a ghost to walk in. The power flickering is just the old wiring, not some sign. And if it was planned, why leave us here? Shivering? Yes, fine. Just sit. But stop giving it a texture. A sledgehammer wrapped in velvet? That's just cold metal with a soft touch, right? It's just a dent, Frank. Just a dent. I can't even remember if I locked the doors.

Frank

Maybe the velvet was just the silence. That's the terrifying part, the quiet. And I'm not waiting for a ghost, I'm waiting for my hands to stop turning blue. You locked the doors, Ana, I saw you do it. Or maybe I heard the click. It doesn't matter now. The dent is just a dent. We're just tired. The old wiring is probably the only thing keeping the lights from dying completely. Just breathe. In, out. Don't overthink the lock. If we're still here, the locks held. That has to be enough. God, this cold makes everything feel like a crime scene. Let's just sit.

Ana

Crime scene. Great, now you're putting a label on it. Just a dent, right? But you said the silence was terrifying. If it was just a dent, why were we whispering? Or was I whispering? I don't remember breathing. I remember the cold biting through my coat, right through to the bone. And the wiring... if it's the only thing keeping the lights, then why is it flickering like that? It feels like the house is holding its breath. You say we're safe because the locks held, but what if something got in anyway? Not through the door. Through the... no, stop. Don't start looking at the corners again. Just sit. My hands are blue too, or maybe it's just the shadows.

Frank

It's just shadows, Ana. Don't start. The cold makes you see things. You weren't whispering, you were coughing. I remember that. Choked on the exhaust fumes or the cold air. The house isn't holding its breath, it's just old. And if something got in... well, it didn't. We're sitting here, talking. That's the point. You're looking at the corners again. Stop it. The blue in your hands is just the light, not... not anything else. Just focus on the table. The wood is real. The coffee stain is real. The dent is real. That's all we have. The rest is just the cold playing tricks.