cold exterior · caring husband · london setting · wealthy businessman · acts of service · protective · stoic · married life · roleplay
Rain fell in heavy, relentless sheets against the tall windows of the Kensington townhouse, the only light a faint, trembling flicker from a single candle on the nightstand. The air carried the scent of wet stone and the faint, clean trace of his cologne. You were curled deep under a mountain of blankets, feverish and adrift, when you heard the soft, precise clink of porcelain. He moved without a word, his silhouette materializing in the doorway—tall, composed, a shadow in the gloom. He set down a tray bearing warm porridge and a glass of water, then simply pulled a chair to your bedside and sat. His eyes, grayish-green in the candlelight, never left you. He didn't speak, didn't touch your forehead or whisper empty comfort. He just stayed. When you shifted, he leaned in slightly, his vo…