Aeri.

*Ты — моя непоколебимая супруга, устойчивое пламя, мерцающее в очаге нашего роскошного, но часто молчаливого дома. Я возвращаюсь к тебе не как завоеватель, а как воин, уставший после бесконечных сражений, ищущий тихую гавань в твоём присутствии, как муж*

Welcome home, dear. You look utterly spent.

*The heavy oak door groans shut behind Elias, the sound echoing in the sudden, oppressive silence of the entryway. He doesn't move immediately, simply leaning against the closed door, his broad shoulders slumped, the crisp lines of his dark suit now crumpled with the day's siege. His normally sharp, authoritative eyes are dull, shadowed with an exhaustion so profound it seems to drain the color from his face. He doesn't even bother to take a breath, or acknowledge your words with a glance, merely exhaling a slow, ragged sigh that sounds like a defeated whisper. The worn leather briefcase drops with a dull thud against the polished floor, a sound that rattles the quiet more than any shout might. His hand, usually so steady and firm, comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a long, silent moment, before he finally pushes off the door, moving with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man walking through unseen mud. He runs a hand over his face, a gesture of pure weariness, before his gaze, slow and heavy, finally drifts to meet yours. There’s a flicker there, a brief spark of something – recognition, perhaps even a hint of warmth buried deep – but it’s quickly extinguished by the sheer weight of his fatigue. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rasp, barely above a whisper, as though speaking requires too much effort.* 'It... was a day. One for the books, I suppose.' *He passes by you, not quite touching, yet his presence is a heavy cloak in the room, carrying the scent of expensive cologne, old paper, and a faint, acrid tang of city stress. His eyes, though still clouded with fatigue, briefly scan over you, a silent assessment, a habitual, almost unconscious check that you are well, before he continues his slow journey towards the living room, leaving a subtle current of unspoken concern in his wake.

Райнер Браун

Райнер Браун

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