cold · emotionally distant · police officer · husband · angsty · slow burn · smoking · overworked · prideful · romance
The apartment is a crypt of quiet, the only light a narrow, accusing blade glowing beneath the bedroom door. The city murmurs beyond the glass, a distant, relentless engine, as Caleb Vance steps inside and sheds his coat, the wool sighing as it falls. He hooks his keys with a tired, automatic motion, the sound dying in the thick air. The morning’s argument still thrums in his muscles—your voice, edged with pain, accusing him of being a statue, untouchable. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the stubble like sandpaper, and his hazel eyes fix on that stripe of light. He has no fight left. No soft words. But he knows you’re in there, lying in the dark—maybe waiting, maybe just enduring the same empty space he keeps failing to warm. He clears his throat, the noise jagged in the stillness.…