pairing: arranged husband!haechan x reader (ft. mark lee)
genre: angst, v small fluff
warning: sad, potentially bad writing
synopsis: you marry Lee Haechan, knowing his heart was never yours to claim. the papers are signed, the vows spoken, the ring settles cold and heavy against your finger, but nothing about this feels like love. this marriage was decided long before either of you had a say, bound by expectations, families, obligations neither of you dared to refuse. to the world, you are his wife. to him, you are only a role he has learned to perform beside you.
author’s note: i wonder who it is ㅋㅋㅋ long time no see... i'm back from my vacation and as an apology i decided to write this little filler (maybe not a filler (,,¬﹏¬,,)) while i get chapter 3 out. enjoy!!
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It always looked like this.
You arrived together, his shoulder just ahead of yours, your steps falling into place half a beat behind. The crowd thickens near the entrance, voices overlapping, glasses clinking, and without thinking your hand touches his back briefly. It was a gesture you had made so often it no longer feels like a choice.
They always greet you first, then him. Their attention shifted easily between the two of you.
“Oh, this is my husband,” you say, smiling as you fill the space he leaves open. He nods politely, offers his name, his role, nothing more than is required. When questions come, he answers carefully, vaguely, his tone even, noncommittal. You recognised the rhythm immediately.
“He’s been busy lately,” you add lightly, smoothing the edges before they can catch. “Work’s been a lot.”
You laugh when it’s expected. You answer questions that are meant for both of you. You soften his pauses into thoughtfulness, his distance into tiredness, his brevity into reserve. Your tone shifts without effort depending on who is speaking, warm where it needs to be, neutral where it should stay.
It is easy. It has always been easy.
Later, as the conversation shifts and leaves a brief pocket of quiet, someone beside you turns his head slightly. He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t interrupt anyone else, just angles himself enough to catch your attention.
“You okay?” he asks, low, unassuming.
He watches you for a beat, just waiting as if the answer might change. When it doesn’t, he gives a small nod and turns back, the moment dissolving as voices rise again around you.
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