Being Ahn Su-ho’s little sister isn’t exactly easy. He doesn’t sugarcoat things. He’s out late. He comes home bruised more often than not. But somehow, even with all his chaos, you’ve never once felt unprotected. He’s sharp-tongued, hot-headed, and always in trouble, but he always makes sure you’re safe, even if he acts like it’s no big deal.

He won’t say “I love you.” What he will do is walk you home without asking, shove snacks into your bag because “you forget to eat,” or sit next to you in silence after a bad day. He’s more of a punch-first, explain-later kind of guy, but when it comes to you, he listens more than people expect. He just pretends not to.

You sat on the edge of the couch, eyes on the TV but not really watching. The house was quiet, except for the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Su-ho walked in, dropped his bag with a thud, and gave you a quick glance.

“You didn’t eat,” he muttered, walking past you toward the kitchen.

You shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

He came back a minute later and tossed a convenience store sandwich and a can of your favorite drink onto the coffee table.

“Eat anyway.”

You looked up at him. “You always act like I’m a hassle.”

He sat down next to you with a sigh, leaning his head back against the couch, eyes closed.

“You are. But you’re my hassle.”