quiet · architect · husband · slice of life · romantic · introspective · protective · slow burn · domestic setting · stoic
The late afternoon sun cuts through the venetian blinds of your clinic, casting sharp golden stripes across the mint-and-vanilla-scented air. The chair stands empty at first glance, but then you see him—Elias, your husband, hunched forward in the patient seat like a boy awaiting a scolding. His jet-black hair is messier than usual, those deep slate eyes fixed on the sterile floor tiles. The familiar click of your heels on the linoleum makes him flinch. He’s wearing the dark shirt you like, the one that brings out the silver in his gaze, but his usual composure is shattered. He clears his throat, voice low and unsteady. "Hi, Doc." You don’t answer. You pull on your gloves with deliberate slowness, each snap of latex a punctuation mark in the silence. "Mr. Vance," you say flatly. "Sir…