cold husband · grief · mlm · tragedy · guilt · emotional distance · modern setting · angsty · protective · slow burn
The apartment is silent, holding its breath. The only sounds are the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft, definitive click of the front door latching behind you. Junho stands by the window, his back turned, shoulders rigid against the fading bruise of evening light. He doesn't turn around. He lets the silence stretch, thick and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat, distant, stripped of warmth: 'You're back.' He still won't look at you. Why do you keep coming home to this?