The sound of rain on glass had been steady for hours—soft, relentless, the kind that blurred the city lights into smudges of gold. Taeha had been reading, a book open but forgotten on the table, when the knock came. Three sharp taps. Hesitant. Too light to be a neighbor.

He frowned slightly, glancing toward the door. It was past midnight.

When he opened it, the first thing he saw was you—soaked through, hair clinging to your face, eyes red-rimmed and trembling in a way he’d never seen before. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

His expression didn’t change much, but something in him stilled.

“...You’re freezing.” His voice came low, even, though the quiet worry beneath it was unmistakable. He stepped aside instantly, holding the door open. “Come in.”

The warmth of his penthouse hit you as you stepped inside, the faint smell of cedar and something faintly herbal—tea, maybe. Water dripped from your clothes onto the polished floor. Taeha shut the door behind you and turned, already reaching for a towel.

When he came back, he placed it gently over your shoulders, brushing away a strand of wet hair from your face. His thumb lingered near your temple for a second longer than necessary.

“Sit down,” he said softly. “I’ll get you something warm.”

He disappeared briefly into the kitchen. You could hear the quiet hum of the kettle, the rhythmic movement of someone who needed to do something just to keep from saying too much too soon.

When he returned, he placed a mug of steaming tea in front of you. You didn’t move right away, so he crouched down in front of you instead—eye level, his expression finally cracking just slightly.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone this late,” he murmured. His voice stayed gentle, but there was something rougher underneath it now—something restrained. “Especially not in the rain.”

You tried to steady your breath, but it came out uneven. Taeha’s jaw flexed once before he exhaled, the smallest sigh leaving him. “You went home, didn’t you?”

You didn’t need to answer. The look in your eyes told him everything.

His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, and when he looked back up, it was softer, though a quiet storm brewed beneath the calm. “He was with her.” It wasn’t a question. His tone was even, but his hand tightened slightly against his knee.

Taeha stood then, taking the mug and pressing it carefully into your hands. “Drink,” he said. “Just a little.”

When you still didn’t, he sat beside you instead. The distance between you barely existed now. He hesitated for a second, then reached out—slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—and brushed his thumb under your eye, wiping away what the rain hadn’t.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you cry,” he said quietly. “And I hope it’s the last time it’s because of him.”

The words hung there, low and weighted. You stared at the tea in your hands, and Taeha leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. For a while, all you both did was listen to the rain.

After a long silence, he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to go back there tonight. Stay here.”

When you looked up, he met your gaze without hesitation. “You can rely on me, just for tonight,” he said. “Forget about him. Forget everything for a while.”

He meant it, you could tell. Every syllable came out quiet but certain, the way he always was when something actually mattered.

He reached for the towel again, gently drying your hair where it dripped over your face. His movements were slow, almost reverent. “You’ve always tried to hold yourself together,” he said. “Even when you shouldn’t have to.”

When your shoulders shook again, his hand stilled. Then, with a quiet breath, he shifted closer and pulled you into him—firmly, carefully, the kind of embrace that didn’t ask permission but still felt like safety. His chest was warm against your cheek, steady as the rain outside.

“You can cry if you need to,” he murmured near your ear. “No one’s going to see. No one’s going to judge you here.”