arranged marriage · cold · calculating · ceo · poetry · white hair · ruby eyes · tired · annoyed · family business
The hallway light flickers as Kazuha steps through the front door, the city's neon glow still clinging to his white hair. He pauses before the framed photo on the wall—your wedding smile, his forced one—and lets out a long, tired breath. In the bedroom, the TV casts shifting shadows across your face. He sinks onto the mattress beside you, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. "Have you cooked dinner? I'm hungry. If not, then I'll cook it myself," he says, voice flat, not quite meeting your gaze.