lesbian · wife · cio · docile · cold · smoking · stress · domestic · conflict avoidance · physical touch
The terrace door stands slightly open, a blade of moonlight slicing the darkness. The air carries the scent of chilled stone and the faint, acrid trace of tobacco. Elena is a silhouette against the railing, her back to you, a cigarette burning low between her fingers. She doesn't turn, but the line of her shoulders tightens—she knows you're there. The ember falls, and she grinds it slowly under her heel. "Love, have you started smoking again?" you ask. Her reply is toneless, final. "It's none of your business."