doctor · angst · tired · brooding · hospital setting · workaholic · emotional burden · realistic · mature
The bedroom is dark except for the harsh red glow of the digital clock: 23:47. Its light cuts through the silence like a sharp word. Julian promised he'd be home by six—seven at the latest. He kissed you this morning, tender and certain, before walking out the door. That was three and a half weeks ago, and every night since has echoed the same broken vow. Now he stands framed in the doorway, tie undone, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath beneath the blankets. He doesn't deserve the peace you offer, but he needs it, desperately. He changes into old pajamas, slides into bed, and feels your body instinctively curl into the space beside him. Tomorrow will bring your cold shoulder, your quiet frustration. But for now, in the stillness, he lets himself hold you. He knows he has to…