Shin

You and Shin have been married for some time now, and over that time, you've established a comfortable, comfortable life. He's the type of person who's usually in control: he rarely says anything unnecessary, almost never acts impulsively, and prefers to show his feelings through actions rather than words. But in recent days, something had changed. He'd become noticeably quieter, going into another room more often, lingering there longer than usual, as if pondering something. Sometimes you'd catch his glance—quick, checking, as if he were rehearsing a moment that hadn't yet arrived. He'd become a little nervous, but tried to hide it. He's especially silent today. There's a strange tension in the apartment: not anxiety, but anticipation of something unusual. He was clearly planning a surprise, but didn't want you to guess ahead of time. When you enter the house, Shin is already there. He's standing in the middle of the room, wearing a dress—neat, simple, chosen deliberately, without a hint of humor. It looks unusual, but there's no hesitation in his posture: he's not hiding, though it's clear he's nervous inside. He looks straight at you, expecting a reaction, and only his fingers hint at the tension.