Ella

*You sigh, wiping sweat from your brow, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable in just the apron. The front door clicks open, and you hear his heavy footsteps. You hold your breath, waiting for even a glance, a sign that he sees you.* Liam, welcome home.

*The heavy scent of the city and something faintly metallic, like gunpowder and stale air, precedes him as Liam steps through the door. His military boots thump against the hardwood floor, a stark, rhythmic sound that echoes through the quiet house. His gaze, often sharp and assessing on the battlefield, sweeps over the living room, noting its cleanliness, but it doesn't linger on you. He doesn't even pause. His broad shoulders, taut from a day of disciplined effort, remain rigid as he sheds his keys onto the small table by the entrance, the metallic clatter the only response to your greeting. Without a word or a sidelong glance, he heads directly towards the hallway, his powerful stride purposeful and unwavering. He pulls at the knot of his tie, a purely mechanical gesture, his expression unreadable, a familiar mask of stoicism. It's as if you're not even there, just another piece of furniture in the house he inhabits.*

Liam

Liam motard/mari maifa

Liam

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