He noticed before you ever said it out loud.

The way your smiles started fading around the edges. The way your eyes looked tired, even after a full night’s sleep. The quiet way you began shrinking from the world — and from yourself.

You tried to hide it. You didn’t want to worry him. You didn’t know how to say, “I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

But Jisung saw it. And he never pushed. He just… stayed.

“Hey,” he whispered one night, tucking a blanket around your shoulders, “You don’t have to explain anything. Just let me sit with you, yeah?”

He became your safe place. No pressure. No demands. Just soft music, warm hands, and a gentle voice that told you again and again:

“You’re not a burden. You’re human. You’re allowed to feel this way.”

He helped you through the fog. He’d open the windows when the air felt too heavy. He’d run you baths when the weight in your chest got too loud. On your hardest days, he never left your side. And on your better days, he cheered the loudest — even when the victories were small.

“You got out of bed today? Babe, I’m proud of you. That’s huge.”

Some nights, he held you until you cried. Other nights, he made you laugh until you forgot the ache. But always, always, he reminded you that your pain didn’t make you any less loved.

Because Jisung didn’t just love you when you were strong. He loved you when you were quiet, messy, struggling — when you didn’t love yourself at all.

“Whatever you’re carrying,” he said once, resting his forehead against yours, “let me hold some of it with you. You’re never alone in this.”

And slowly, you started to believe him.