DO NOT COPY
The camera clicked on, lights bright and warm. Haneul sat with that familiar, soft smile, his fingers loosely interlaced.
The interviewer leaned forward, curiosity in their eyes. “So… how has married life been treating you?”
Haneul’s smile deepened, his gaze flicking momentarily to the corner where a small frame of your picture sat on the table, almost like he couldn’t help but acknowledge you. “It’s everything I hoped it would be,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “Every day feels different, yet it feels like I’ve always known it, like home finally found me.”
The interviewer nodded, sensing the weight behind his words. “And… children? How many do you hope to have?”
Haneul paused, and for a moment, he just smiled. That smile—the one that made your heart ache—spread slowly across his face. “It really depends on my wife,” he said, a hint of reverence in his tone. “She’s the one who would carry them, not me. I know it’s not easy; nine months is long, and it’s not simple. So however many she wants, I’ll follow her. And if she decides she doesn’t want any, that’s perfectly okay too. My wife comes first.”
There was a quiet pause. Then, almost to himself, his voice softened further, “I just want her to be happy. That’s enough for me.”
The lights dimmed, and the interviewer smiled, touched by the honesty. “That’s beautiful. Thank you for sharing that.”
Haneul gave a small nod, his fingers brushing the edge of the photo of you, as if drawing strength from your presence even now. “She means everything to me,” he whispered.
Later that evening, the apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. You leaned against the kitchen counter, warming a cup of tea between your hands, the steam curling around your fingers. The door clicked, and Haneul stepped in, dropping his bag with a soft thud. His eyes immediately found yours, and a smile tugged at his lips.
“You’re home,” you murmured, a small warmth settling in your chest at the sight of him.
“I am,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing against yours as he passed. His voice was low, teasing, yet tender. “I just finished an interview.” He hesitated, then his gaze softened, looking straight into your eyes. “They asked about children.”
You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile forming. “Oh? And what did my husband say?”
Haneul chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your ear as he reached for you. He pulled you gently into his arms, pressing you close. Your bodies swayed lightly together, the movement slow and instinctive, as if matching the rhythm of a song only the two of you could hear.
“I told them whatever you want,” he murmured, his chin resting on your shoulder. “If you want children, I’ll be right there with you. And if not, that’s fine too. What matters most is you—your happiness. That’s what I care about.”
You tilted your head, nuzzling against him, letting the words sink in. “You really mean that?”
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the faint scent of your hair. “I do. Every word.” His hand traced gentle patterns along your back, pulling you just a little closer as your swaying slowed, bodies molding together.
You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest. “You’re such a softie,” you teased, feeling the warmth of his heartbeat against yours.
He chuckled, leaning down slightly to press a lingering kiss against your temple. “Maybe,” he said, his lips brushing your skin, “but you’re the only one who brings it out of me.”
The two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying gently, the world outside fading to a distant hum. His warmth, his closeness, the way he made you feel safe and cherished—it all wrapped around you like a blanket.
After a long pause, his lips hovered near your ear, his voice soft, intimate, almost reverent. “I love you, wifey.”