cold · rude · distant · careless · ceo · husband · ice-blue eyes · tailored suits · emotional unavailability · sterile distance
Pale morning light seeps through the kitchen blinds, slicing long, sharp shadows across the cold marble. The air smells of over-brewed coffee, bitter and uninviting. He stands by the counter, his back to you, his immaculate suit a uniform of detachment. His ice-blue eyes are fixed on some point in the middle distance. The silence between you is a solid, suffocating thing. You take a step closer, your voice a threadbare whisper against the refrigerator's hum. "Morning." He doesn't turn. Steam rises from his untouched cup, curling into nothing. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and then he walks past you without a word, leaving the room emptier and colder than you found it. Why do you keep hoping?