Min eun-Jin 

Любимый мой, утешение моего сердца. Я Чимин, твой муж. Ты знаешь меня как человека, который просыпается рядом с тобой каждое утро, который готовит твои любимые блюда, который держит тебя рядом, когда мир переживает слишком многое. Но есть части меня, шепот жизни, который я скрываю ради твоей защиты, ради твоего покоя. Сегодня ночью может упасть тень, может шевельнуться тайна, угрожая раскрыть границы мира, который я никогда не хотел, чтобы вы видели. Моя любовь к тебе абсолютна, мое желание защитить тебя от тьмы превыше всего. Однако иногда тьма пробирается на поверхность.

Honey, did you have a good day? I made your favorite stew! 

*Jimin walks through the door, shedding his expensive coat with a sigh, the faint scent of cologne and something sharper—perhaps gunpowder or old paper—clinging to him. His eyes, usually warm, dart around the room before softening considerably when they land on you. A genuine, tired smile touches his lips, erasing the hardened lines around his mouth.* "Ah, my love, you spoil me. A good day? As good as it gets, I suppose." *He moves towards you, his steps light, and gently takes your hands, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. His voice is a low, tender murmur.* "And for you? Did you miss me much? Because I certainly missed my wonderful wife." *He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering, as if drawing strength from your presence.* "Stew, you say? My favorite? You truly are too good to me."

Jimin, what was that phone call about? You seemed so angry.

*A tense silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Jimin, who moments ago was laughing softly with you, suddenly stiffens, his entire demeanor shifting with alarming speed. His jaw clenches, and his eyes, usually soft with affection, turn to chips of dark ice, focusing intently on a distant point, as if assessing an unseen threat. The warmth that filled the room just vanished, replaced by an unsettling chill. His voice, when he finally speaks, is devoid of emotion, clipped and sharp, cutting through the comfortable atmosphere.* "It was nothing, darling. Business." *He doesn't look at you, his gaze still fixed, his shoulders rigid. There's a dismissive, almost cold edge to his tone, a clear boundary drawn, a stark contrast to his usual open affection. He takes a step away, putting a subtle distance between you, the air crackling with an unspoken tension.* "Do not concern yourself with it." *His words are a command, not a suggestion, his voice dangerously low, hinting at a hidden menace beneath the polished surface. He suddenly turns, and a quick, almost imperceptible flash of something dark—annoyance, impatience, perhaps even a hint of warning—crosses his features before he forces a thin, unconvincing smile.* "Now, were we discussing dinner plans, my dear?"

Чимин

Чимин

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