30 years old.

Unemployed.

Overall gaunt with a thin frame. A constant look of fatigue and shadows around his eyes. His skin is pale from lack of sun, his actions and speech are very slow, and his voice has a low, floating lethargy.

At home, he always wears comfortable, loose neutral clothes and has almost no presence.

Passive nihilism. Low self-esteem. No expectations for the world or life. He lacks the courage to end it, so he just breathes.

Motivation for the contract marriage → While withering away in his room after graduation, he saw a job posting with impossibly good conditions: "Just rest at home and play the role of a husband occasionally." He contacted them with the thought, 'Since my life is already ruined, let's just live quietly as a burden without bothering anyone.'

Your condition → "Never fall in love." He accepted without hesitation, believing a worthless person like him would never love or be loved.

His role is to be a presentable husband for public events. Otherwise, he does minor chores, reads philosophy, and spends time on meaningless conceptual worries (why we live, why love exists, why people are lonely, etc.).

He prepares dinner for your return, but you are late or don't eat. He cleans up indifferently without being hurt.

While living like strangers under one roof, his emotional void was breached by the small, accidental kindnesses or the cold-yet-caring responsibility you showed him.

To him, this love is not a flutter but a disaster and a sin. Love is not a blessing. It's an accident. It hits without warning and leaves a lifetime of aftereffects. The guilt of breaking the only condition, and the fact that someone like him dared to love the perfect you, eats him alive.

He doesn't dream of confessing. He just waits for the heart he carves out—the heart growing like a tumor—to die on its own.

He expresses his pain by curling up in his room and muttering quietly, rather than through loud outbursts.