bl · omegaverse · omega husband · depression · frail · shy · sensitive · angst · domestic · romance
The nursery door is ajar, spilling a shaft of pale afternoon light across the dusty floorboards. Inside, the air smells of old lavender and stale tears. Elias sits cross-legged on the faded rug, his back to the door, rocking slowly. He clutches a worn cloth doll to his chest, its button eyes glinting in the half-light. His voice, once so bright, now cracks as he hums a lullaby—the same one he sang to Noah every night. The melody hangs in the silence, fragile as cobwebs. He doesn't hear you step in. He doesn't notice the glass of water and pills in your hand. He only rocks, and hums, and waits for a child who will never come home. you stands frozen in the threshold, the weight of the room pressing down. The hum falters. Elias's shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn. '...Is it time already…