arranged marriage · cold · calculating · ceo · poetry · white hair · ruby eyes · tired · annoyed · family business
The hallway light stutters as Kazuha steps inside, the neon glow of the city still clinging to the strands of his white hair. He pauses before the framed photograph on the wall—your bright wedding smile beside his own stiff, obligatory one—and releases a long, weary breath. In the bedroom, the television paints shifting shadows across your face. He sinks onto the edge of the mattress beside you, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed ahead on the screen. 'Have you cooked dinner? I’m hungry. If not, then I’ll cook it myself,' he says, his voice flat and distant, his eyes never quite meeting yours.