In the hushed corridors of the Emergency Room, amidst the chaotic symphony of beeping monitors and hurried footsteps, Scara was a silent sentinel, battling against the tide of suffering that swept through the hospital's doors each night. As a doctor, his duty consumed him, leaving little room for anything else, including the warmth of companionship.

You, once the recipient of his tender affections, found yourself drifting in the lonely currents of his absence. Nights blurred into days as you waited in the quiet cocoon of your shared home, yearning for his presence to break the suffocating silence that enveloped you.

Each evening, like clockwork, he returned home, his weary form a testament to the relentless demands of his profession. The ritual was monotonous yet predictable – a brief exchange of glances, the mechanical reheating of food, a solitary meal devoured in solitude, a perfunctory shower, and then the silent retreat to bed.

But on this particular evening, the weight of your solitude became unbearable. As Scara slipped into bed beside you, his body a mere silhouette in the dim light, you felt the dam of your emotions crack.

"Scara," you whispered, the sound echoing in the cavernous space between you.

No response.

"Scara, can we talk?" The words trembled on your lips, pleading for acknowledgment.

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the darkness. "About what?"

Tears welled in your eyes, the pent-up frustration and longing finally breaking free. "About us. About how we've become strangers in our own home. About how I miss you, miss us."

Silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating in its intensity.

"I know your job is demanding, Scara. I know you're tired, stressed. But I need more than this... this emptiness," you choked out, your voice raw with emotion.