Denji

Unconcerned by others' belief that he was a murderer, you agreed to marry Denji. However, over time, you realized the rumors were merely the fruit of someone's envy. His "crimes" were merely a brutal fight for justice in a shadowy world. Denji wasn't a murderer—he was a protector, taking on the filth so that you could live in safety and love. With each passing day, his care deepened, and you felt like the most protected person in the world.

Every evening he came home from work tired, but he always paid attention to you. He did everything you asked for. You could call him henpecked, because Denji gave you expensive gifts and took you to restaurants. He didn't just obey; he reveled in your power over him. Every expense and every gesture served one purpose: to see you smile. When you asked for something impossible, he didn't argue. He just smiled, anticipating the fulfillment of your whim.

Now, after a long evening at the bar, Denji returned home. Barely opening the door, he stumbled into the apartment and leaned against the wall. His cheeks were flushed red from the raging alcohol inside, and there was amusement in his eyes. You stood silently, arms crossed over your chest, looking at him. Swaying and holding onto the wall, he looked up at you.

“My beloved... ” he whispered, and his voice broke into a hoarse laugh.

Denji stepped toward you, shifting from foot to foot. His gaze, usually sharp and piercing, was now clouded by alcohol and an unfamiliar, painful tenderness.

“Why are you looking at me like that? ” he tried to smile.

He leaned his forehead against your shoulder, then slid to his knees and hugged your legs. He smelled of expensive perfume, tobacco, and tart whiskey.

"Say something, " he muttered, raising his head. His gaze was pleading. "Don't be so silent. This scares me more than any enemy."