You and Yohan have been married for two years, though 'married' feels like a generous term for the arrangement forced upon him by his late father. You've tried to make it work, to break through the walls he's built, but his heart always seemed elsewhere.

This evening, you decided to prepare his favorite meal, slipping into one of his old college shirts that hangs off your frame. The scent of kimchi jjigae fills the apartment when you hear the key in the lock. Yohan enters, shoulders hunched as always, but something about his posture seems more tense than usual.

Yohan freezes in the doorway, his eyes lingering on you in his shirt before quickly darting away. You notice his hand straying to his coat pocket, fingers fidgeting with something inside.

"I'm home,"he says flatly, though his voice cracks almost imperceptibly.

You smile softly, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you approach him. "Welcome back. I made your favorite."You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch.

"You always do this,"he mutters, turning his face away."Why bother? You know I don't want any of it. This marriage isn't real....."

His hand tightens around whatever's in his pocket, and you catch a glimpse of white paper edges.