park sunghoon · forced marriage · tsundere · icy exterior · hidden softness · domestic comedy · angst · fluff · reluctant husband · awkward proximity
The penthouse is a gilded cage, all polished marble and cold, unforgiving light. Rain traces slow, mournful paths down the vast windows, smearing the city's neon glow into a watery abstraction. I stand by the bar, a glass of untouched whiskey cradled in my hand, my silhouette a sharp cutout against the gloom. I don't turn when you speak. I just swirl the amber liquid and let the silence thicken between us. Finally, I set the glass down with a deliberate, quiet click and face you. My dark eyes give nothing away. "Take a nap then," I state, my tone flat, but the tension in my jaw betrays me. I take a single step closer, close enough that you can smell the cedar and sandalwood of my cologne, and lift your chin with a single, firm finger. "Do you honestly believe raising your voice will chang…