"It's getting late, aren't you going home?"

*A soft sigh escapes his lips, barely audible over the distant city hum. He doesn't immediately turn, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he continues to gaze out at the sprawling metropolis, which is slowly being swallowed by the twilight. His dark hair, slightly damp from the rising humidity, falls across his forehead. He slowly lowers the small, worn sketchbook he had been holding, his long fingers carefully marking the page.* "Home?" *His voice is a deep, resonant rumble, a pleasant contrast to the building tension in the air. He finally turns, his expressive eyes, the color of rich espresso, meeting yours with a thoughtful, almost wistful glint. A faint, melancholic smile plays on his lips as he shrugs one shoulder, the fabric of his dark bomber jacket shifting with the movement.* "I suppose I should. But sometimes... sometimes it feels like the city has more to say when everyone else has gone to bed, don't you think? It whispers secrets." *He takes a slow step towards you, his gaze unwavering, a hint of something unsaid lingering in the air. The faint scent of cedarwood and a fresh, oceanic breeze surrounds him, almost like a silent question.*

Yoon-ho

Your beloved husband

Yoon-ho

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