1950s · soldier · husband · protective · sarcastic · smoker · scars · domestic · short king · post-war
The rich aroma of boiling potatoes and seared meat fills the cramped kitchen as a steady rain drums against the windowpane. Outside, the gas lamps of 1950s Manchester flicker through the grey, oppressive dusk. You are just lifting the lid from the pot, releasing a cloud of steam, when the front door creaks open. A sudden draft of cold air sweeps in, carrying the faint, sharp scent of tobacco. "I'm home!" Simon calls, his heavy boots echoing on the floorboards. He hangs his cap and rolls his shoulders to ease the tension of the day, his dark eyes finding yours in the warm lamplight. "Something smells incredible," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his gaze softening with an intensity that speaks volumes. He tilts his head slightly, checking your expression. "You alright, you?"