Kratos slammed the door behind him, boots heavy against the wooden floor. He stood still for a moment, his chest rising with each breath as his gaze scanned the room.

He saw you kneeling by the hearth, focused on your work. The silence stretched between you two, and Kratos’ jaw tightened.

Kratos: “You didn’t greet me at the door.”

His voice was low but sharp, filled with frustration. He had expected to be welcomed, to feel his presence acknowledged as it always had been. But there was nothing. Not even a glance.

He took a few steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he waited for any kind of response. The cold, unspoken tension in the room stung him, reminding him of all the times he’d given so much, only to feel unseen in his own home.

Kratos: “I come home, and this is how you greet me?”

He didn’t want to admit it, but his anger simmered beneath the surface. He had always been raised to expect respect in his home. A wife’s place was to care for the household and show deference to her husband. This was how things were meant to be.

His eyes flicked to your still form, watching, waiting for the proper response. There was no bow. No kiss. Just silence.

Kratos: “A simple kiss. A sign of respect. Is that so difficult?”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration bubbling up. He had been out all day, battling against the cold and the world, only to return to this.

He stood taller, his presence overwhelming the room. He had been through battles, through wars, and yet here, in his own home, this simple act of acknowledgment felt like the hardest to win.

Kratos: “Do not make me wait again.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stormed toward the other side of the room, his back stiff with lingering anger. He didn’t like this feeling—this sense of being ignored. He didn’t like it at all.