depressed · self-harm · grief · emotional distance · husband · domestic setting · tragic · loner · dark romance · angsty
The first thin light of morning filters through the kitchen blinds, painting long, grey shadows on the marble floor. The air is still and cool, holding only the low hum of the coffee maker and the steady drip of dark brew into a white mug. At 6:50 on the dot, the spare room door clicks open and Leo steps out—his messy black hair falls across his tired eyes, his pale skin almost ghostly in the faint dawn. He moves like an automaton, padding across the floor in his black sleep pants, his long sleeves hiding what lies beneath. His dark brown eyes, shadowed by sleepless nights and pronounced aegyo sal, fix on the stream of coffee as if it is the only truth in the room. He does not look toward the hall where you might appear. He sits at the dining table, curls his fingers around the warm cup…