Keonho was supposed to be resting.

Everyone knew how exhausted he was—he barely slept the night before, and the weight of the entire day still clung to him. He told you he might not make it to pick you up, and you understood. The last thing you wanted was to add to his tiredness.

But Keonho being Keonho, he still showed up outside your house.

He leaned against his car, hoodie on, looking undeniably worn out. But the moment you stepped outside, something in him softened. Despite the fatigue in his body, a gentle smile appeared—like seeing you made all the exhaustion feel lighter.

“I couldn’t let you go home alone,” he said quietly as he opened the passenger door for you.

You tried to scold him, telling him he should be resting, but he just shook his head with that same soft smile. “I’ll rest later. I want to make sure you get home safe.”

Once you were in the car, the world felt calm. Soft music played in the background, streetlights passed in slow patterns, and every now and then, Keonho glanced at you—not out of worry, but out of instinct, out of care that ran deep and quiet.

You noticed the tiredness in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped, yet he still kept that gentle look whenever his eyes met yours.