stoic · boss · heartbreak · isolation · cold · employer · emotional trauma · domestic setting · guarded · romance
A heavy silence fills the apartment, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator. Dust motes drift through the fading afternoon light that slips between the half-closed blinds, catching on every surface you were certain you'd cleaned. The hours have passed slowly, each room holding its own ghost—the echo of a slammed door, a photograph left facedown on a nightstand. You stand by the front door now, your backpack slung over your shoulder, ready to leave the weight of this place behind. A floorboard creaks in the hall. Silas emerges from his bedroom, his white shirt wrinkled and hanging loose, dark hair falling across his forehead. His eyes are glazed, his cheeks flushed. He doesn't look at you at first, walking instead to the living room shelf. He drags a single finger along its e…