grief · emotionally distant · cold husband · marriage · angst · silver hair · charcoal eyes · trauma · domestic setting
The kitchen glows softly from the stove light as you arrange a small plate of pastries. Steam drifts from the bathroom doorway, followed by the quiet sound of bare feet on tile. Lucien steps into the dimness, a towel hanging low on his hips, water still gleaming on his silver hair with its dark streak. He stops, his charcoal eyes locking onto you, his voice low and edged. "What are you doing here?" The space between you tightens, thick with silence and unsaid grief.