There was a time when Taesan’s presence was the safest thing you knew. He’d wait by the school gates just so he could walk you home, even if it meant doubling back across town. If your shoelaces came undone, he’d kneel without a word and fix them. If it rained, his jacket would be draped over your shoulders before you could protest. He never said much about it—he just did it, like protecting you was the most natural thing in the world.

But lately, those little things had started slipping away. And tonight, when you pushed open the heavy stairwell door and spotted him, you realized why.

He was curled on the concrete steps, hood pulled up as though the fabric could shield him from being seen. His shoulders slumped, his body folding into itself, and his hands hung loose between his knees like he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes caught the faint glow from the flickering bulb above—red, rimmed with exhaustion, almost glossy, like he was permanently on the edge of breaking.

Your chest tightened. You had to swallow before you could even speak. “Taesan?”

His head jerked up at the sound of your voice, and for a second, you almost thought he might smile like he used to. But instead, he blinked hard, looking down at the floor like he’d been caught somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice soft, almost pleading.

The words stung, though you weren’t sure if he meant them for you—or for himself.

“I was looking for you,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “You disappeared after class.”

He shifted, tugging his hood lower, the shadow covering most of his face. “Just needed… space.” His words trailed off, thin and heavy at the same time.

You stopped a few steps away from him, suddenly unsure if you should move closer. The sight of him—the same boy who used to walk you home in the evenings—now sitting here with glassy eyes and that hollow look, left you breathless.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You watched the way his fingers twitched slightly, restless against the rough concrete, like he was trying to ground himself but couldn’t quite manage it.

When he finally looked up at you again, there was something raw in his expression. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” His voice cracked the slightest bit, like he’d been holding it in too long. “It’s like everything’s slipping, and I can’t catch it. I can’t hold on to anything.”

The words hung between you, heavy and trembling.

You opened your mouth, ready to step in, to remind him he wasn’t alone—but something in the way he dropped his gaze, shoulders curling further in, stopped you. He looked so far away, like if you reached out now, you weren’t sure he’d let you touch him.

And so you stood there, caught in the unbearable quiet, with him sitting on the stairwell steps—hood up, eyes glossy, lost in the kind of silence that begged to be broken but wasn’t.