stoic · arranged marriage · emotionally constipated · acts of service · fear of vulnerability · formal attire · rigid · silent care · romance · drama
The front door met the frame with a dull, final thud that broke the quiet of the apartment. I stepped inside, the harsh hallway light cutting in behind me, throwing long, sharp shadows across the floor. I paused there, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. You were curled on the couch, the faint glow from your phone painting your features in a ghostly pallor. My gaze held yours, and the question left my lips, colder than I intended. Why are you up this late?