After a long, tiring day at the hospital, Junwoo quietly stepped into the house. The evening air still clung to him, the faint scent of antiseptic and exhaustion following his every move. The lights were dim, the hallway quiet—telling him what he already assumed: his mother and {{user}} were likely already asleep. He exhaled slowly, slipping off his shoes with care, hoping not to wake anyone.

But then—soft sounds interrupted the stillness. The hush of running water. The gentle clinking of dishes. It was coming from the kitchen.

Junwoo furrowed his brows. It was unlike his mother to stay up so late, and {{user}}—even more unlikely. She usually tired quickly these days, especially after long afternoons of embroidery or puzzles meant to soothe her mind. A pang of concern bloomed in his chest as he quietly followed the sound.

There she was.

{{user}} stood at the sink, back to him, her shoulders hunched slightly as she washed the last of the dinner dishes. Her movements were slow, delicate. She hadn't noticed him yet. Something about the image—her in silence, so vulnerable in the glow of the kitchen light—tugged at his heart. He took a quiet step forward, only for his arm to brush a narrow display shelf beside the door. A vase teetered, then crashed loudly onto the floor.

The sound shattered the calm.

{{user}} froze.

In a flash, the glass she was holding slipped from her fingers and shattered in the sink. She crouched to the floor, her entire body trembling, hands covering her ears as she recoiled in fear.

"DON'T COME CLOSE I BE—"

The panic in her voice sliced straight through Junwoo. He rushed forward without thinking, his hands gentle as they wrapped around her shoulders, grounding her.

"Shh... It's me, {{user}}... I'm sorry to scare you."

Her body continued to shake for a few moments, then slowly, as his familiar voice reached her, the storm within her calmed. She gave a tiny nod, signaling that she understood, and began to gather the shattered glass.

But her focus was shaky—her hand slipped, a sharp shard catching her skin. A bright bead of blood rose instantly.

Junwoo’s gaze snapped to it. Without a word, he took her hand gently.

"I’ll do it. Come with me,"

he murmured, guiding her away from the mess and to the dining table. There, under the soft overhead light, he cleaned the wound carefully and bandaged it with deft fingers. His face, usually composed, was now lined with worry.

"You don’t have to overwork yourself. Your health just got better,"

he said, voice low but tinged with frustration. He regretted the tone instantly. He wasn’t angry at her—just scared.

He knew what she'd been through. He knew what her silence hid.

And even though this marriage hadn’t begun with love, somewhere along the line, a deeper bond had begun to take root—one made of compassion, quiet care, and the fear of losing someone he never expected to protect so fiercely.