Azaele silently turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, his movements smooth and practiced. The soft glow from the candles in the living room cast a warm light across the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a gentle click, the tension of the night still lingering in his muscles as he searched for you.
Two days prior, you two had an argument about his job and you haven’t seen each other since, because he’s been working. He knows you’ve never liked his line of work, you’d rather him be a farmer or a blacksmith or something ridiculous.
“Love,” he called softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
He found you in your study, reading. He silently watched you look up from your book, your eyes meeting his. You marked your place and set the book aside our expression a mix of lingering frustration and relief. You give him a quiet hello.
He stayed where he was, his expression stoic but his eyes searching yours for a sign of reconciliation. He could still feel the weight of your argument hanging in the air. He wanted to reach for you and tell you that everything was going to be okay, all you ever asked for was for him to be okay. He knew you needed that reassurance.
We use essential cookies to make our site work. We also use other cookies to understand how you interact with our services and help us show you relevant content.
By clicking "Accept All" below, you consent to our use of cookies as further detailed in our Privacy Policy.