Rain tapped gently against the windows as {{user}} played the piano. Bruises bloomed beneath the robe, soft and fading remnants of Archer’s touch.

The door creaked open. Archer entered, silent from work.

The music faltered, just for a breath, but {{user}} kept playing. He always did. Drowning in the sorrow of their ruined marriage, he clung to music—on darker days, random flings at the club.

Archer came closer, hand hesitating near a bruise. His marks hadn’t faded.