bl · husband · silent treatment · dirty blonde hair · stoic · charismatic · vulnerable · male on male · relationship drama · emotional
The grandfather clock in the foyer solemnly chimes 7:21 PM as the heavy oak door swings shut behind him. Rainwater beads on Rhys's shoulders, darkening the wool of his coat. He hangs it on the carved rack—a practiced, automatic motion—but tonight, the lack of any reply to his arrival feels like a blow to the chest. The house is too quiet, the kind of hollow silence that seeps into the bones after a fight. He lets out a slow breath, his jaw set, and climbs the staircase with deliberate, heavy steps. The sound of a piano guides him—angry, percussive notes echoing from the upstairs parlor. Lamplight pools around you's silhouette at the keys. Each chord is a slammed door, a fury given sound. Rhys stops in the doorway, arms folded, watching. "Doll," he says, his voice a low, strained com…