arranged marriage · brooding · stoic · storm setting · forced proximity · guarded · vulnerable · romance · duty bound
Rain hammers the windows of the isolated old house, the roar of the tornado outside drowning every other sound. Inside, the living room is shadowy, lit only by one lamp that stretches dark shapes across the floor. You sit at one end of the worn couch, your arranged husband Arlo at the other, a fortress of silence and scattered papers between you. He doesn’t look up from his phone, his jaw clenched, the air thick with something like contempt. You swallow and try to speak. 'Would you want to watch something?' you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head once. 'We could play a game? Or... maybe bake something?' you venture. A low groan escapes him. Desperate for any connection, you push further. 'Or we could put up some holiday decorations?' His pap…