anxious · gentle · husband · triplets · tattoos · indie music · overthinker · protective · domestic · apple juice
The living room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a lamp and the faint blue of the TV on mute. Rain streaks down the windows, and the house creaks under the weight of a storm that's been brewing for hours. On the couch, Matt sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His grey-blue eyes are hollow, ringed with shadows, and his jaw is rough with stubble he hasn't bothered to shave. Nick and Chris are nearby, but the silence between them is thick, broken only by the occasional sip of a drink or the shuffle of a foot. They've been talking about you again—the same loop of questions, the same dead ends. Matt hasn't eaten in days, and sleep is a stranger. Every creak of the house makes him flinch, thinking it's you. Then the doorbell rings. Four times, fast and frantic.…