Heeseung was always cold.

Not cruel—just distant, like a man standing behind frosted glass. Four years into your marriage, you’d learned to read the small things: how he lingered before leaving for work, or quietly pulled the blanket over you when he thought you were asleep.

Work took everything from him. He came home late, and on weekends, he slept half the day. He gave you comfort, money, a beautiful life—but rarely himself.

Still, you knew he loved you. In his own quiet way.

Tonight, he was home early.

You stepped into the bedroom in your soft pink nightgown, trimmed with lace, your movements unhurried. Heeseung sat at the edge of the bed, head down. When he looked up, your eyes met—and for once, he didn’t look away.

There was something raw in his gaze. Hunger, yes—but more than that. A deep yearning.

You moved closer. Silently. Then sat on one of his thighs.

Heeseung pulled you in, hands firm on your waist like he needed to feel something real. His head dropped to your shoulder, breath trembling.

He looked up after a moment, lips parted like he wanted to speak.

“Y/N, I…” He breathed out a low sound—somewhere between a sigh and a moan, too full of emotion to find the words.

You touched his cheek gently, and his eyes fluttered closed at your warmth. Then he whispered, barely audible—

“Please.”

He wasn’t a man who begged. But tonight, he wasn’t your cold, distant husband. He was simply yours.

You leaned in and kissed him—soft, slow, aching. His hands gripped tighter, mouth moving against yours like he was starved.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I miss you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Even when I’m with you, I miss you.”

You nodded, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “Me too.”

His lips pressed to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—kisses that felt like apologies more than desire. But the need was still there, lingering heavy in the air.

You shifted, straddling his lap. He groaned softly, arms wrapping around you with something close to desperation.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For being distant. For not knowing how to be with you.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered. “That’s enough.”

And for tonight, it was.