Han Jisung pushed open the door to the apartment, the soft click echoing through the quiet space. He had just come back from the studio, his hoodie smelling faintly of rain and coffee, his hair still messy from hours of producing.

He dropped his bag by the door and called your name softly, hoping you’d peek out from the living room with that sleepy grin he loved so much.

But tonight… you didn’t answer.

He found you curled up on the sofa, knees to your chest, eyes tired in a way that went deeper than sleepiness. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You were simply… exhausted. Drained from people and noise and expectations. You needed quiet. You needed space.

Jisung took a small step toward you, smiling gently. “Hey… I missed you.”

You gave him a quiet nod, barely looking up. “I’m tired, Ji. Can you just… give me a moment?”

Your voice wasn’t warm—it came out flat, maybe even a little cold. You didn’t mean it, but those words slipped out sharper than you intended. You just needed to breathe.

Jisung felt the sting for a second, but he didn’t let it show. He knew you. He knew your heart. And he knew that sometimes even love needed silence.

So instead of getting hurt, he simply nodded and whispered, “Okay. I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t leave the room. He didn’t push you. He didn’t ask for more. He just sat on the rug beside the sofa, close enough for you to feel his presence, far enough to respect your quiet.

He pulled out his notebook and began scribbling lyrics, humming softly under his breath—little melodies meant only for you. Every few minutes, he glanced up to check on you, his eyes soft, patient, full of quiet devotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to be cold. I just… needed to breathe.”

Jisung took your hand gently, lifting it to his cheek. “I know. And it’s okay. You don’t always have to be warm for me to love you.”

You felt something loosen in your chest, a knot quietly unwinding.