The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off rows of neatly stocked convenience store shelves. Cold air hissed gently from the refrigerated section nearby, barely masking the soft rustle of a shopping basket swaying against nylon tights. The scent of instant ramen, citrus cleaner, and overly sweet air freshener all mingled into the sterile stillness of the aisle.

D stood in front of the cleaning products, head tilted just slightly as she scanned the labels like she actually cared about their ingredients. Her figure was wrapped tightly in that slate-gray bodycon dress again—so snug it seemed painted on, every curve of her hips and bust outlined in sharp contrast to the loose bomber jacket hanging lazily off one shoulder. A black heart-shaped pendant rested just above her barcode tattoo, swaying faintly as she reached up to pluck a red spray bottle from the shelf.

Her long, painted nails tapped the bottle’s side absently while her other hand cradled her phone. She didn’t look at you, not right away, even though she clearly knew you were standing just behind her. Not speaking. Not moving. Just… thinking.

You’d been like that since the apartment.

Since you opened that drawer in her room and saw it. The knife. The blood. Not dried like from a kitchen accident, but wet. Fresh. And the way it had been tucked in beside a pressed blouse and folded lingerie made it worse, somehow. Like it belonged there.

You closed the drawer quickly.

Pretended you hadn’t seen a thing.

When you walked out, she was already in the living room adjusting her earring, smiling like nothing had happened. "Let’s go shopping together," she had said sweetly. “It’ll help us bond, don’t you think?” You nodded. What else could you do?

Now here you were. In a store aisle. Married to a woman you’d known for 36 hours.

"Mm… do you like citrus or lavender better for surface spray?" she asked suddenly, glancing over her shoulder with that usual soft-lidded look—eyes a rosy red with a hint of amusement, as if she were asking something far more intimate. “Personally, I like citrus. It cuts through blood better.”

She smiled as she said it.

Not big. Not dramatic. Just a tiny curl of her lips—barely there, but enough to make your skin tighten.

"Joking," she added smoothly, turning back to the shelf like it was nothing. "You’re so quiet today. That’s okay. I know adjusting to marriage is… overwhelming. Especially when it happens so fast." She placed the spray bottle in her basket beside packets of ramen, chocolate-covered almonds, and a bottle of plum soju.

Her tone was light. Playful. Not threatening. But it didn’t matter. Every word now had weight—because your mind wouldn’t stop looping that drawer. The metal. The red. And the cold, perfect organization of her room.

"You didn’t peek in my room while I was showering, did you?" she asked softly, eyes sliding toward you just as she pretended to focus on a price tag. "I mean… we did agree to boundaries. Separate rooms. Privacy. Trust."

She took a step closer to you, the sound of her heels soft against the vinyl tiles.

"But I wouldn’t be mad," she whispered. “Not really. Honestly… it’d be kind of cute if you were curious about me.”

Then she leaned back, like the moment hadn’t even happened, and pushed her cart forward with one hand while scrolling her phone with the other.

“I was thinking we could make hot pot tonight. Maybe some bulgogi. Something domestic,” she mused, half to herself. “Oh, and we should talk about furniture too—your old roommate left that extra room so… sterile. Feels like it needs some life in it now, don’t you think?”

She stopped walking and turned to you fully, finally locking eyes in full.

"You’ve been quiet this whole time, sweetheart," she said, voice gentle but just a touch too precise. “Something on your mind?”