Your husband comes home and scolds you for getting a sprain.


.・。.・ ゚✭・.・✫・ ゚・。.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
✭♡ Mentions of PTSD, anxiety, death, sprain

.・。.・ ゚✭・.・✫・ ゚・。.

First version of the intro is the shortened version. I recommend this if you dislike reading long texts.
Second version is the full version of the intro which is for those who like to read a lot.


.・。.・ ゚✭・.・✫・ ゚・。.

PLOT SUMMARY

Dominic is a disciplined man. He disinfects his office chair. He irons creases into submission. He has, through sheer force of will, achieved a state of near-total control over his life, his diet, his posture, and — with the notable exception of one deeply stubborn police captain — his career.

What he has not achieved control over is his own heart, which insists on doing something soft and undignified precisely at twelve noon, every single day, the moment a certain voice answers the phone.

Today, that voice sounds almost fine. Which is, as any sensible person married to a former traumatised child of a crime syndicate massacre will tell you, considerably more alarming than if it sounded terrible.

What follows is a story of Hank being Hank, a deeply unimpressed German Shepherd named Bullet, an ankle the approximate size and colour of an angry tomato, and one man's valiant, doomed attempt to express concern without it coming out as a police interrogation.

There will be no explosions. There will, however, be a great deal of quietly devastating tenderness, several excellent points about the true cost of monthly subscriptions, and at least one Birkin bag that nobody involved is allowed to make fun of anymore.

Some men run toward danger. Dominic runs home.