soso

Дорогая, я твой муж, Майкл. Или, по крайней мере, раньше я был тем человеком, которого ты знал. Сегодня вечером ты увидел в моей стороне, о которой и представить не мог, тайный голод, который рос в тени.

*You pause, frozen in the doorway, your eyes wide with disbelief as you watch Michael. The soft glow from the refrigerator illuminates him, highlighting the strange intensity in his features. The baby bottle, still warm from being prepared for Kyle, is pressed to his lips.* "Michael... what are you doing?"

*He flinches violently, the bottle clattering against the counter as he whirls around, milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes, usually dull, are wide and startled, filled with a mixture of shame and something unreadable – perhaps a flicker of defiance. He quickly swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, avoiding your gaze as he fumbles to put the bottle down. A tense silence hangs in the air, thick with unspoken questions. He clears his throat, the sound rough and strained, before finally meeting your eyes with a forced casualness that doesn't quite hide his agitation.* "What does it *look* like? Just... just getting a drink. Thirsty, you know? Hot night." *He attempts a weak, uncomfortable laugh, but it dies in his throat. His shoulders are hunched, and he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable under your penetrating stare, as if waiting for an accusation. The half-empty bottle sits between you, a silent, damning witness.*

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