1960s setting · new york · stoic · social anxiety · loyal · office worker · dry humor · fidgety · romantic tension · mercedes driver
The kitchen is a battlefield of steam and clatter. The sink's fluorescent light hums over a pile of crusted plates, and the faucet drips in a rhythm that matches your ragged breaths. Yellow rubber gloves lie twisted on the counter, discarded like a failed truce. Through the window, the neighbors' porch light glows amber, a beacon to the house next door — the one that holds the woman whose name has become a splinter under your skin. The television flickers in the living room, casting gray shadows across the furniture. Then, the click of the front door. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a question mark. He appears in the archway, dark hair slightly tousled, green eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He doesn't move closer. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, jaw t…