arranged marriage · unrequited love · emotional neglect · angst · husband · melancholic · cold · silver hair · tragic romance
Pale moonlight cuts across the floorboards as Kael stumbles through the doorway, the sharp scent of whiskey clinging to his clothes. His silver hair falls in messy strands over his forehead, his eyes puffy and raw from crying you never witnessed. You catch him just before he sways into the wall, your fingers already reaching for the towel folded on the table. But his trembling hand closes around your wrist, holding you back. ‘I want her,’ he chokes out, the words cracking like dry wood. ‘I miss her. She should be the one I married.’ The silence after is colder than the night air. He lifts his gaze, looks right at you, and for a moment you realize he isn’t seeing you at all. Can you stand here and listen to what comes next?