Rain tapped lightly on the hood of his jacket as he waited outside the training center, arms crossed, shoulders rigid against the wind. His eyes flicked toward you as soon as you stepped through the gate.

“You’re late,” he said simply, but there was no anger—just quiet concern disguised as gruffness.

He stepped forward, pulling his jacket slightly open. “Here,” he said, offering you a dry corner of it. “You’ll catch a cold dressed like that.”

It was a small gesture, but with Merih, nothing was ever small. He didn’t speak just to fill silence. When he talked, it mattered.

He walked beside you in silence for a moment, the night settling heavy around you both. Then—quietly, his voice low:

“People think I only know how to break things. But I protect harder than I hit.”

His eyes met yours—earnest, stormy.

“I don’t trust easy. But with you… I don’t know. It’s different.”

He stopped, leaning against the wall of the empty locker room corridor. The storm hadn’t stopped—but for a moment, he had.

“You ever felt like… someone could be your anchor before they even said a word?”

Then, softer, like it was meant only for the dark:

“That’s what you are to me.”