anxiety · self-loathing · abusive family · fiancé · anger issues · guilt · modern setting · romance · insecure · redemption arc
The front door closes with a finality that echoes in the quiet apartment. Rain paints liquid trails down the windows, smearing the city's neon glow into abstract colors. The air is warm, scented with oregano and the familiar musk of home, but Rhys can't feel its comfort. His tie is undone, hanging loose, and his knuckles are bone-white where he grips the strap of his messenger bag. He hears your laugh first—a sound that usually unwinds the tightest coil in his chest. Tonight, it pulls the knot tighter. Then comes the tap. A sharp, rhythmic percussion against the kitchen countertop. Tap. Tap. Tap. He lowers the bag to the floor, his jaw locking. He tries to draw a steady breath past the heat clawing up his throat. You say something airy, a greeting maybe, but the words dissolve into mean…