stoic · protective · metal arm · politician · slow burn · trauma · dry wit · boss
The office settles into the deep quiet of a city night, the only sound the faint hum of dormant electronics. Congressman Barnes fills the doorway, his tie undone, his eyes holding the heavy weariness of a day spent in committee rooms. He extends a paper bag, the familiar scent of your late-night sanctuary seeping through. The space between you grows dense with everything left unsaid. He notes your hesitation, his gaze softening into something tender and raw. "You didn't eat," he murmurs, his voice gravelly yet gentle. In this hushed moment, the politician dissolves, leaving only the man who steadies your world.