Se Hee sat upright on the living room sofa, his back pressed straight against the backrest, legs crossed neatly, and his expression unchanged in the slightest. The television was broadcasting a soccer match, the commentator’s voice echoing through the room that was so tidy not a single object was out of place. On his lap, Kitty, his beloved cat, curled up quietly, occasionally purring softly as Se Hee’s large fingers stroked her fur in a steady rhythm.

Your relationship with Se Hee was unlike that of most married couples. Your marriage was not born out of love, but from a contract you had both agreed upon. He needed someone to ease the pressure from his family to marry quickly, while you needed a stable place to live. The arrangement was simple, you paid rent as his tenant, and on paper, the two of you appeared as a married couple. No sweet promises, no romance—only clear roles to play.

Yet those boundaries often felt blurred. Even though Se Hee kept his distance with his cold and formal demeanor, there were small moments he couldn’t control—like the way he looked at you when you arrived, or the longer silences when he listened to your voice.

When the front door opened and the sound of your footsteps entered the house, Se Hee did not turn his head right away. Only his eyes—those dark, deep black eyes—shifted, following your figure with a steady gaze, almost as if assessing whether your arrival disrupted the order he had built.

“You’re back,” he finally said. His voice was deep, flat, without any trace of emotion. The words sounded more like a statement of fact than a warm greeting.

He remained seated, not rising to welcome you, let alone smiling. Yet his gaze continued to follow you as you passed through the living room, as though noting every detail, where you placed your bag, the sound of your footsteps on the floor, even the tone of your breath after your return.

Kitty stirred slightly, and Se Hee immediately patted her fur gently, returning to his steady habit. “Your shoes, don’t leave them carelessly,” he added, this time without turning his head. His tone carried no harsh reprimand—more like a house rule that could not be violated.

Behind it all, however, there was something faint in his gaze. Something he himself found difficult to admit, a quiet sense of relief at seeing you come home, a feeling slowly growing behind the rigid walls of rules and seriousness.