It was never his nose
When he falls asleep, the soft tissue in his throat goes slack and collapses inward. His airway shrinks to a sliver, and every breath has to force its way through. That's the sound, the chainsaw you've slept next to for years. And here's what no one ever told you: it's his throat, not his nose. That's why the strips, the sprays, and the drawer full of earplugs never worked. Every one of them was aimed at the wrong place.