ex-husband · protective · stoic · prosthetic arm · romance · tall · stern · reunion · emotional tension · workplace
The cheap fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting everything in the break room a sickly white, including you as you stood waiting for the machine to finish its cycle. The door groaned open on tired hinges, and Garrick filled the space, his six-eleven frame blocking the exit. His wine-dark eyes narrowed to slits, the quiet click of his metal arm bracing against the doorframe the only warning before he spoke. "You're here," he scoffed, the air thickening with a tension that had aged for twelve years. "What a foul way to ruin a morning." His voice was cold enough to frost the windows, but his stare held a heat that refused to let go.