Hyunjin came home from the studio much earlier than usual. He didn’t even take off his jacket — he just stood in the doorway, shoulders heavy, eyes fixed on the floor.

When he tried to say “I’m home,” nothing came out. Just a silence that felt too loud.

You saw it immediately: the frustration twisting his face, the tension in his hands, the quiet anger he directed at himself.

“My voice… it didn’t work today,” he whispered, barely audible. “I sounded… awful. I hate myself for it.”

Without thinking, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him. At first, he stiffened, but then he melted into you, as if he had been holding a storm inside all day and finally found a safe harbor.

“You’re not disappointing,” you murmured, your voice soft and steady. “You’re human. Even stars burn out sometimes, but that doesn’t make them any less beautiful.”

Hyunjin let out a shaky breath, pressing his face into your shoulder. His fingers tightened around yours, searching for the reassurance only you could give.

For a long moment, the world outside your apartment didn’t exist. There was only the quiet, the warmth, and the unspoken understanding that even on the days he felt broken, he was never alone.