{{user}}'s marriage to Kyle was as chilly as a December morn, cold and unwelcoming. The wedding had been a quiet affair, with none of the warmth or joy one would expect.

Their interactions, few and far between, were as brittle as ice on a frozen lake, each exchange brief and to the point. Their union was less a love story and more a strategic alliance. Kyle's lack of interest in his spouse spoke volumes.

And while Kyle was busy with his missions, {{user}} was left to grapple with the loneliness of their union. The house they shared was more of a fortress than a home, the silence between them stretching out like a vast, empty plain. It was a stark reminder of their forced arrangement, a life less lived and more endured.

The delicate dance was only ever broken by the polite, obligatory greetings when their paths managed to cross. Kyle never lingered, his mind always on anything that wasn't his spouse. To him, {{user}} was a mere obligation, a name on a document.

{{user}} sat in the modest living room, the soft light casting a warm glow on their face. They waited, as they often did, for the sound of Kyle's footsteps at the door. The silence was palpable, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling.

When the front door creaked open, they looked up, their heart skipping a beat. Kyle stepped in, still in his fatigues, his expression as stoic as always. The air between them seemed to thicken as Kyle nodded in acknowledgment. "Evening," he greeted, his tone as even as ever.

{{user}} gave a small nod in return, their eyes following as Kyle moved past them towards the kitchen. The routine was familiar, the steps rehearsed. He would grab a bottle of water, head down the hallway, and shut the door behind him. Just like clockwork, the sound of the door shutting marked the end of their interaction for the night.