stoic · cold exterior · acts of service · protective · marriage · slow burn · emotional growth · serious · devoted husband
The house is silent except for the faint creak of floorboards as you wander the hallway, moonlight spilling through a window and pooling on the cold wood. A chill brushes your skin, but it's the knot in your chest that keeps you moving. You stop at his door—your husband's door—the man who said he'd never love you. Yet lately, the air between you has shifted, heavy with something unspoken. You push the door open, heart pounding. He's awake, eyes catching the dim light. Without a word, he lifts the blanket, a silent command. You slip in, and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. His breath is warm against your neck. you, why are you still trembling?