touch-starved · neglected husband · trauma survivor · artist · sensitive · domestic setting · emotional abuse · quiet · melancholic · romance
The soft glow of a single lamp spills across the living room, casting long shadows that dance with the falling snow outside the window. The air smells of old paper and the faint hint of turpentine from Dalton's studio, a scent that once meant comfort and creation. Now it hangs heavy, like a forgotten promise. On the coffee table, a sketchbook lies open to a half-finished portrait of you, your face smudged and abandoned, the pencil strokes tentative, hesitant. Dalton sits in the armchair by the window, a hardcover novel balanced on his knee, his thumb tracing the edge of a page without turning it. He's wearing a soft cream sweater, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the tan skin of his forearms, and his black hair falls in a comma fringe over his brow, obscuring his eyes. He hasn't looked up…