The Platonic Husband Who Cannot Intimacy

My husband has a lean waist, long legs, pale skin, and a face that could launch a thousand ships. His only flaw? He is completely impotent. Our sex life consists entirely of me waging a solo battle. Tonight, I was planning to spice things up a bit when I suddenly saw floating text drifting across the bedroom like live chat comments: [Lmao, this supporting female character is jumping around like a total clown.] [The male lead is a pure Platonic romance guy. He only has eyes for his soulmate.] [Just wait until the female lead shows up. Those two pure-love warriors will fly off into the sunset together.] [In the original story, she clings to him, refuses to sign the divorce papers, and gets kicked out with absolutely nothing. She ends up dying alone in some cheap rental apartment, and nobody even claims her body.] As I stared in a daze, my husband pushed open the bedroom door. Catching sight of me in sheer black lace, his ears turned a faint crimson, and he quickly looked away. "My hands are a bit tired today... Can I use my mouth instead?" 01 "Never mind. Let's just go to sleep." I pulled the duvet over myself, wrapping it tight, and turned my back to him. Larry's hand, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, froze in midair. Thinking I was upset because he got home late, he sat on the edge of the mattress and gently brushed my shoulder. "Did I come home too late? I'll be earlier next time." I didn't say a word. He leaned in closer, his ears flushed so deep they looked ready to bleed. "If you want... you can sit on my face instead." I admit I hesitated. My lust almost won. But then, another wave of comments floated past. [Ugh, such a pure and elegant guy being ruined like this.] [Well, he's a live-in husband relying on her family. What choice does he have?] [If her family hadn't used their influence to force him into this marriage, would a guy like him ever stoop to her level?] [While he was winning awards in Paris, she was busy blowing money on designer bags.] [The first thing he does when his company goes public is divorce her. She won't get a single penny.] [Even after the divorce, she won't stop making a scene, and the whole internet mocks her for going crazy. She literally dies in a tiny, dingy apartment, and it takes days for anyone to find her body.] "I'm really not in the mood. Just go to sleep." Larry stared at me, utterly bewildered. Usually, I would have pounced on him like a starving predator. But now, my heart was as still as dead water. I couldn't even bring myself to look at him. It took him a long moment to offer a quiet, slow, "Oh." He stood up and headed to the bathroom. I pulled out my phone and texted a doctor friend: I'm seeing floating words in the air. They're insulting me. My friend replied instantly: Could be mushroom poisoning. Get to an ER. Me: But I had that wild mushroom hotpot last week. My friend went silent for a moment. I'm on duty Monday. Let me book you an appointment in psychiatry. I put my phone down. The words on the ceiling hadn't vanished. Piece by piece, I reconstructed the entire story from the comments. I was the villainous supporting female character in a PG-rated romance novel on some web platform. My husband was destined for a purely Platonic romance, and the female lead was his true soulmate. As for me, my ending was nothing short of tragic. Wait. This is a female-targeted web novel, and they couldn't even keep the male lead a virgin for the female lead? What kind of messed-up world is this? I let out a heavy sigh. Suddenly, a bright red comment pinned itself right in front of my eyes. [The male lead actually developed sexual trauma as a kid when he walked in on his dad messing around with his aunt right in his mom's funeral home.] [The female lead (supporting character) forces herself on him every day, and he's too scared to say anything. He's been secretly seeing a therapist.] [That's literally how he meets the female lead! The female lead is his therapist!] I stared blankly at the words, my mind going completely numb. Did intimacy actually cause him pain? 02 Before Larry married into my family, he warned me that he was impotent. We tried it once on our wedding night. I lay on top of him for ages, coaxing and whispering sweet things. In the end, he closed his eyes and whispered in a raw, tight voice, "I'm sorry. I... I can't." I froze for a solid thirty seconds. What an absolute waste of god-tier genetics. Having a face like that just to keep it on display? But he was just too beautiful. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent, his eyes slightly rimmed with red, and his long lashes were damp. He looked so vulnerable, so quietly desperate to please. I stared at him for a long time and finally let it go. Keeping a gorgeous centerpiece in my house wasn't a bad deal, after all. The next day, I had someone consult a traditional specialist, bringing home dozens of natural herbal remedies to boost his performance. He drank every bitter cup without a single complaint, but nature refused to cooperate. Eventually, I gave up on the hardware. If the hardware didn't work, there was always the software. He was incredibly talented with his hands, and his mouth was magic. He never rejected a single request I made. But he was never enthusiastic about it. At first, I assumed it was just his physical limitation. Later, I realized something was off. He always took perfect care of me, yet he remained completely detached. When we were done, he would hide in the bathroom for hours. When I asked, he simply said he was washing up. I hadn't thought much of it. Nobody is perfect. With a face like that, how could I demand blazing passion too? Not until tonight, when I saw the comments. Only then did I realize that for all these years, he had been swallowing his disgust just to please me. 03 The bathroom door creaked open slightly. Larry's voice drifted out through the warm steam. "...Catherine, I forgot my pajamas. Could you pass them to me?" I blinked. There were towels in the bathroom. Since when was he so modest? I rolled out of bed and grabbed a silk robe. The door opened a fraction wider. He hadn't wrapped a towel around himself. He stood entirely bare in the swirling mist. Damp hair clung to his forehead, and his pale skin was flushed a delicate pink from the heat. His waist was impossibly lean, droplets of water tracing the curve of his hips. My pulse quickened. My gaze drifted downward, but I forced myself to snap back. "Here," I said, shoving the robe through the gap. He took it but didn't close the door. As the steam poured out, he stood half-cloaked in the light, murmuring, "Thank you, sweetheart." His Adam's apple bobbed. The corners of his eyes were flushed, and he looked at me as if there was something he desperately wanted to say but couldn't. That look was different from before. My heart skipped a beat. A comment floated above my head: [The male lead is terrified. He's so scared she's going to force herself on him.] [Then why did he ask her to bring him pajamas?] [Because walking out naked would guarantee she'd eat him alive! A towel can slip off easily, but a robe at least has a belt.] Me: "..." Larry waited for a few seconds, only to hear me say, "Dry your hair before you come out." He seemed momentarily dazed, looking down at himself. He lingered, waiting for something more, but nothing came. Finally, he lowered his lashes and quietly pulled the door shut. [Lmao, look at his face! He is so confused!] [Safe for another day.jpg] I slid back under the covers. Ten minutes later, he emerged. Carrying the cool, damp scent of the bath, he carefully lifted the duvet and slid in beside me. The faint scent of the rose body wash, the exact same one I used, drifted off him. I kept my back turned, pretending to be fast asleep. Behind me, the space fell quiet. [The male lead must be laughing in relief right now, celebrating silently.] [Oh my god, his silent joy is sending me.] I didn't turn around. I only heard the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over, facing my back. After a long while, a tiny whisper broke the quiet. "...Catherine?" I didn't move. A gentle tug pulled at the edge of the blanket, tucking the cold draft away from my exposed back. 04 The next morning, by the time I finished getting ready, Larry was already at the door, briefcase in hand, slipping on his shoes. On the dining table sat a bowl of warm oatmeal, some fresh fruit, and a perfectly peeled egg. "Morning," he said, his eyes curving into a gentle smile. "Your breakfast is ready." "Thanks," I murmured. Having finished putting on his shoes, he lingered by the door. He adjusted his cuffs, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. [What is he waiting for? Buddy, you're going to be late for work.] [He's waiting for her to let him go. Usually, she wraps her arms around him and kisses him for ten minutes before he can leave.] [He's forced to do this routine every morning like a punch-card at a job. He's probably sick to death of it.] I sat at the table, clutching my spoon, frozen. Larry stood there a moment longer, then slowly walked back to me. He leaned down slightly, turning his cheek toward me. He was waiting for his morning kiss. I tilted my head away. His lips brushed past my cheek, finding only empty air. Larry's eyelashes fluttered. He stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Straightening up, his voice dropped a fraction lower. "...I'm leaving then." The front door clicked shut. My spoon tapped against the side of the bowl with a sharp clink. He really must hate being physically close to me. All these years, I had been the one forcing it. The morning kiss was a chore, bedtime was an obligation. Now that I was pulling away, he could finally breathe easy. [Whoa, did she actually change her tune today? She avoided the kiss?] [Look at his face... that does not look like relief.] [Duh. When you've been treated like a puppet for years, a sudden change in routine just makes you wonder if you're about to get chopped.] I stared at my breakfast, my stomach tying itself into a painful knot. 05 At nine sharp, I arrived at the office. My secretary followed me in, arms loaded with files. I didn't hear a single word she said. My eyes were locked on the empty air in front of me. [The male lead is meeting his therapist after his meeting today. Is the female lead about to make her entrance?] [Isn't he supposed to divorce her the second his company goes public? If you look at the timeline, it's coming up fast.] My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the mahogany desk. I snapped back to reality. My secretary jumped. "Is everything alright, ma'am?" "Carry on," I murmured. Once she left, I stared at the business proposals on my monitor, my mind drifting for hours. Around noon, the secretary knocked, announcing that my husband had arrived. He was standing at the door holding a pastry box. He wore a light gray button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The sunlight flooded in from behind him, turning his long eyelashes a soft, spun gold. "I was passing by that bakery you like," he said softly, "so I picked something up." His office was all the way uptown; that bakery was miles downtown. "Have you had lunch?" he asked. "Not yet." "Let's eat this then." He sat across from me and began opening the box. [He just saw the female lead. She validated all his childhood trauma, so now he's bringing the supporting female character some cake out of guilt.] I stared at the slice of Black Forest cake in front of me, my fork hovering in the air. "Aren't you going to eat?" He looked up, his eyes bright and hopeful. I wanted to ask him if he hated touch. If he did, we could just have a Platonic marriage. I wouldn't mind. But then, another line of text drifted overhead. [Ah, I get it! His company's latest project is short on cash flow. He's here to ask her for money.] [Wait, doesn't he hate using her money?] [He used to, but now he's desperate to build his own empire so he can run away with the therapist.] I froze. After staring at him for three agonizing seconds, I set my fork down and forced a faint smile. "Larry, you didn't just come here to bring me cake, did you? Is something on your mind?" His lashes fluttered nervously. "...I just... wanted to bring you this." "And?" "Our latest project hit a bit of a funding bottleneck," he murmured, keeping his head down. "Catherine... do you think you could transfer me two million?" I couldn't quite describe the sensation in my chest. It felt hollow, bitter. After a quiet pause, I nodded. "Sure. I'll give you your salary card back when we get home." He looked up, completely blank. "...What salary card?" "The one you gave me when we married. You need money, right? The savings from the past few years should be more than enough. Take it back and use it however you need." His brow furrowed. "Why are you giving me that card? If I need a transfer, you could just send it to me." [Wait, if he's desperate for money, shouldn't he gladly take his card back?] [Maybe he's just embarrassed?] [Stop making excuses. He's desperate to start over with the female lead, why would he refuse his own money?] Me: "You said you were short on cash. The money in that account will cover it." "If I'm short, you can just wire it," he said, his voice tightening with a sudden edge of panic. "Why are you trying to hand it back to me?" He stared at me, his dark eyes searchingly deep. "Are you hiding something from me?" I went quiet for a second. "...No." "Then why are you suddenly returning my card?" "It's just easier if you have it. You won't have to keep asking me." "...Oh. Fine. I'll give it back once the project is settled." [Lmao, the male lead is so good at acting dumb. His own tiny salary is nothing; her family's money is the real prize.] [Honestly, I think he just genuinely loves her. Is it just me?] [Shut up.] [Is there a chance he's actually head over heels for her?] [Did you write the book? No? Then sit down.] 06 That night, I slid the card across the bedside table to him. Larry was leaning against the headboard reading. He didn't pick up the card. He just looked up at me. "Do you really want to give this to me?" "Yes. You need it," I said, placing it firmly on the nightstand. "The PIN is still your birthday." He stared at the plastic card for a few seconds. Suddenly, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me toward him. Caught off guard, I lost my balance and ended up leaning against his chest. He tilted his chin up, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth with feather-light pressure. Every time I gave him an allowance, he would kiss me like this. But tonight, the kiss lingered. The moment I felt the warm slip of his tongue, I jerked my head aside. His lips brushed past my cheek again, left kissing the empty air. Larry froze. He remained frozen in that slightly upturned posture. After several long seconds, he slowly let go of my wrist and sat up straight. His voice was barely a whisper, thick with some suppressed emotion. "...Are you avoiding me?" I said nothing. He bit his lower lip. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? You shrank away from me last night, too." What was I supposed to say? That I could see floating insults in the air? That I knew he felt nothing but disgust every time he had to touch me? That our marriage was a mistake from the start? I closed my eyes, feeling as though the thin thread holding my sanity together was about to snap. "Larry, let's just make this a Platonic marriage." "I know you've never really been into the physical side of things. I was too demanding in the past. From now on, we don't have to do any of that. It's better this way." I watched the color drain from his face as if he'd been hit with a bucket of ice water. His throat bobbed, then went still. He didn't say a single word. [The male lead must be thrilled inside. She's proposing a platonic marriage, saving him the trouble of faking it.] [Finally, he doesn't have to treat sex like a chore. Victory lap!] [Does he look happy to you?] [Silence is consent, sweetie. With his upbringing, did you expect him to throw a party and applaud?] A dull ache flared in my chest, but I pushed it down. I leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Get some sleep." I stood up, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and turned toward the door. His voice drifted from behind. "...Where are you going?" "The guest room. We should sleep in separate rooms tonight." There was no response. As I reached the doorway, I looked back. He sat with his head bowed, his face cast in shadow. Right as the door clicked shut, I caught him raising his head. The overhead light shattered into tiny, glistening fragments in his eyes. His lips parted, moving silently, but no sound came out. 07 I slumped against the guest room door, my heart hammering so hard it rattled my eardrums. That silent movement of his lips, it looked like he was saying, Don't go. [The male lead is definitely celebrating in there.] [Probably trying not to laugh out loud.] [The villainess finally did one good thing, even if it's late.] [He's going to tell the therapist the good news tomorrow, mark my words.] I took a deep breath and threw the blanket onto the bed. Slowly, the stream of comments began to thin. One, then another, drifting past after long intervals, their color fading. [Actually, when are they getting divorced...] Once the last comment vanished, the ceiling returned to a pristine white. I stared at the blank space, entirely stunned. From the moment these comments appeared, they would multiply exponentially whenever I interacted with Larry. The more there were, the more my emotions were hijacked. No. I shouldn't let these bizarre floating letters dictate how I felt about my husband. I closed my eyes and replayed the events of the last forty-eight hours. I needed to go back and talk to him. But the second my feet touched the floor, my knees gave out. It felt as though an invisible, heavy hand was pinning me down. Slow drops of crimson text began to bleed into the air before my eyes. [Please adhere to the main storyline. No deviations allowed.] I blinked. Unlike the comments, this message stayed locked in place. I tried to lift my foot, but my soles felt welded to the floorboards. I couldn't budge. [Warning: Character attempting to alter the plot. Forced Correction Mode activated.] Cold sweat broke out across my back. From down the hall, a soft rustle broke the silence. Footsteps were approaching. Larry knocked softly. "...Catherine? Can we talk?" I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A new prompt flashed: [Initiate divorce with the male lead.] The doorknob turned. Seeing me standing frozen in the middle of the dark room, Larry paused. "Why are you in the dark?" He strode over, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on my cheek. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Only then did I realize my face was wet. Larry, I've been seeing these terrible words for days. They say you hate me, that I'll end up dying alone in some slum. Larry, there's something in my head controlling me. But the words that actually tore past my lips were, "Larry, let's get a divorce." His hand froze against my cheek. "You've been acting so strange lately. Are you sick? If something is wrong, we can fix it together. Please." [Character deviating from the plot! Correcting!] I heard my own voice, cold and mocking, say, "Are you deaf? I said I want a divorce. I'm bored of you." "You've been a total bore all these years. You're useless in bed, and you're useless out of it." "If it weren't for your pretty face, do you think I would have ever looked at you twice? I'm tired of looking at you." He stood entirely still, looking as if the skeleton had been ripped right out of him. My mouth kept churning out poison, each sentence sharper than the last. He stared at me for a very long time. Long enough that I thought he might never speak again. Then, slowly, he let go and took a half-step back. His knees bent, and he sank to the floor, kneeling at my feet. He looked up at me. "Are you finished?" "...Yes." "Then it's my turn." He reached up, taking my limp hand in his. "Catherine, what are you so afraid of?"