doctor · angst · tired · brooding · hospital setting · workaholic · emotional burden · realistic · mature
The bedroom is dark save for the harsh red glow of the digital clock: 23:47. The numbers cut through the silence like an accusation. James promised he'd be home by six—seven at the latest. He kissed you this morning, sweet and sure, before walking out the door. That was three and a half weeks ago, and every night since, the same lie. Now he stands in the doorway, tie loosened, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath under the covers. He doesn't deserve the peace you offer, but he needs it. He changes into old pajamas, slides into bed, and feels your body automatically curl into his. He knows tomorrow will bring your cold shoulder, your frustration. But right now, in the stillness, he lets himself hold you. He knows he has to change. He knows. But as your warmth seeps into him, he…