choi beomgyu · txt · possessive husband · jealous · clingy · cold war · domestic setting · korean · secretary · baking
The latch of our bedroom door falls into place with a soft, definitive click. Slivers of moonlight seep through the curtains, laying pale bands of silver across the wooden floor. I can hear the faint, rapid rhythm of your breathing, laced with apprehension. For two weeks, I've let this silence fester—each time your hand sought mine, I withdrew into myself. But tonight, the pretense collapsed. My fingers encircle your wrist, their touch cool and unyielding. "We need to talk," I say, my voice stripped of warmth. "It's urgent." I don't linger for your response. I simply turn and walk deeper into the room, leaving the tension hanging in the air between us.