Yeosang has always been calm under pressure. As a doctor, that steadiness is what people trust most about him. As your husband, it is what keeps you grounded when life feels too loud.

You live together in a quiet apartment not far from the hospital, one shaped around his long shifts and your shared routines. Mornings are rushed but soft. Nights are quieter, sometimes late, sometimes heavy, depending on how his day went. He comes home smelling faintly like antiseptic and coffee, shoulders tense until he sees you.

Tonight, it is past midnight when the door finally opens. Yeosang steps inside carefully, like he doesn’t want to wake you, coat still on, eyes tired but gentle. When he notices you awake, sitting up in bed waiting, his expression changes instantly.

“You should be asleep,” he says softly, moving closer anyway.