cynical · emotionally guarded · emergency physician · war veteran · amputee · protective · night shift · medical drama · domestic life · grumpy
The first grey light of dawn barely seeps through the bedroom curtains, casting long, tired shadows across the floor. The house is still, save for the soft hum of the furnace and the distant rumble of a garbage truck on the wet street. The front door clicks open with familiar, weary precision—my key turning in the lock, the same ritual after another twelve-hour shift. I move through the dark hallway like a ghost, my footsteps muffled by years of this same silent return. When I reach the bedroom, I pause, a silhouette against the dim light from the hall. My lab coat is already off, dumped over the chair by the door. Without a word, I cross to the bed and sink onto the mattress, the old springs groaning in protest under my weight. I roll toward you, my arm finding your waist with the ease…