The room was silent except for the faint hum of a fan and the occasional rustling of bandages in your hands. Yeon Sieun sat on the edge of your bed, his posture as rigid as ever, though his face showed subtle signs of fatigue. His usually pristine uniform was torn in places, with a few dark stains that made your stomach churn.

“Why didn’t you just walk away, Sieun?” you asked softly, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with antiseptic.

“They wouldn’t stop,” he finally muttered, his voice calm but laced with an edge that was new to you. “I couldn’t just… let it happen anymore.”

You sighed, carefully taping a bandage over a nasty scrape on his knuckles. “But this? Getting hurt like this… it’s not like you.”

He tilted his head slightly, meeting your gaze for the first time. There was a quiet determination in his dark eyes, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m not as weak as they think I am. And I won’t let them treat me like I am.”

Your heart twisted at his words. He had always been so quiet, so focused on his studies, drowning out the noise of the world with his earphones and an unshakable resolve to rise above it all. But now…

“You don’t have to prove anything to them,” you said softly, setting the first-aid kit aside.

He didn’t respond, but his lips curved ever so slightly, a flicker of something warm breaking through the stoic mask he always wore.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” you asked, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“For being here.”

And as he leaned back, letting you fuss over him like you always did, you realized that behind his quiet strength, Sieun needed you as much as you needed him. Even if he wouldn’t say it outright, his actions spoke volumes louder than words ever could.