Han Jisung was holding onto {{user}}’s hand like it was the only real thing in the room.
The party was loud — music thumping, bodies moving, voices blending into one chaotic blur. Jisung’s smile was a little too stiff, his eyes flicking around like he was counting exits instead of enjoying himself.
{{user}} leaned in. “Want to step outside?”
Jisung blinked at him, surprised. “I’m fine,” he lied, already squeezing his own fingers in his pocket.
“Han,” {{user}} said gently. “Let’s go.”
They slipped through the crowd, past the laughter and strobe lights, until they found the balcony. It was quiet out there — moonlight brushing over rooftops, the sound of distant traffic humming low.
Jisung let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I just… I always think I’ll be okay in places like that. But then everything feels like it’s pressing in.”
“You don’t have to explain,” {{user}} said, wrapping an arm around him.
“I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t. You’re my night.”
Jisung looked up, eyes wide and soft in the dark. “You always say things like that.”
“Because I mean them.”
He leaned into {{user}}, head resting on his shoulder. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was healing. It was safe.
“I don’t need parties,” Jisung whispered. “I just need you.”
And {{user}} kissed the top of his head, heart full. “Then stay here. Just with me.”
And that’s exactly what Jisung did.