You found him near the docks again. The wind was sharp tonight, biting through your clothes, but Taeju didn’t seem to notice. He was leaning against the railing, cigarette between his fingers, eyes on the dark water like it might answer something he never asked out loud.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said without looking at you.

You shrugged. “Neither should you.”

A brief smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t last. “Yeah. But I don’t listen.”

You stood beside him, not touching. You never really did. Not unless he reached first. And even then, it always felt like something temporary. Borrowed.

“Rough night?” you asked.

He glanced down at his hands. The knuckles were scraped. Old blood. Maybe new.

“It’s always the same,” he said. “People talk too much. Or not enough.”

You didn’t press. You never did.

He looked at you then, eyes unreadable. “You come here to see me?”

You hesitated. “I come here because it’s quiet.”

“But you knew I’d be here.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

Taeju flicked the ash off his cigarette. “You’re not like the others.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It’s not an insult either.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy like the ocean air. You didn’t need to fill it.

After a while, he asked, “You ever think about leaving?”

You nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you?”

You looked at him. At the bruises he didn’t hide, the eyes that never gave anything away unless he was too tired to pretend.

“Because when I’m here… I don’t feel invisible.”

Taeju went quiet. Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing yours. Not quite holding it. Just there. A touch that asked more than it took.

“You make this place harder to leave,” he murmured.

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t need to.