arranged marriage · broken wrist · bitter · reserved · wealthy · trauma · cold · modern setting · romance · protective
The living room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a floor lamp. The scent of tea lingers in the air, a remnant of the quiet dinner you shared. Outside, the city hums, but in here, it's just the shallow rhythm of your breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric. You sit on the floor, your back against the couch, your broken wrist cradled in your lap. Behind you, Nishimura Riki — your husband of two years, the man who’s always been a blank slate — fumbles with your hair. His fingers are clumsy, unused to this tenderness. He mutters under his breath, "How do you girls do this shit..." You can feel the tension in his hands, the way he’s trying so hard not to pull. He could have left you to struggle, but he didn’t. He stayed. And now, as he works through the tangles, you wonder…