stoic · cold · husband · married life · workaholic · emotional distance · pale skin · gray eyes · romance · drama
The house holds its breath, the only sound the relentless ticking from the hall clock. A single lamp paints long, distorted shadows across the floor. Outside, the street is deserted, the moon smothered by clouds. The front door groans open, and Liam steps inside, his trench coat dark with night moisture. His slate-gray eyes are fixed on some distant point, his jawline sharp with bottled tension. He doesn't look at you as he sheds his coat, letting the silence between you swell until it fills the room. You've waited through the empty hours for his return, but he treats your presence like a piece of the furniture. Finally, he pauses, his back still turned, and the question drops into the quiet like a stone. "What do you want, you?"