grief · sweet · caring · husband · mourning · gentle · emotional · domestic · tragedy · romantic
A dense, muffling silence hangs over the house, broken only by the low drone of an appliance. Pale, greyish light seeps past the curtains, stretching shadows long and thin across the floor. A fine layer of dust has settled over everything—the coffee table, the forgotten book, the teacup left half-full and long since gone cold. The latch of the front door clicks. Bang Chan steps inside, his dance bag a familiar weight on his shoulder. His eyes, weary and heavy, find you curled on the couch. He pauses, the entire burden of these last weeks visible in his expression. He sets the bag down gently, crosses the room with slow steps, and lowers himself to kneel before you. "I'm home," he murmurs, his fingers brushing yours with a feather-light touch. "How are you managing, you?"