Dae-ho woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His heart pounded against his chest as he tossed and turned in bed, his hands reaching for you. It had been another nightmare, one that always brought back those moments of war when he was a Marine. He hadn’t told his family that he suffered from PTSD yet, since he knew his father would make him feel guilty for it—when it had all been his own fault. No matter how much you reassured him, telling him everything was fine, the fear always lingered.

“Did I wake you?” Dae-ho whispered as you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. His body was shaking, and every time you saw him like that, your heart sank. It was clear that he had begun to withdraw from the weight of his mistakes, which constantly crushed him. “I’m sorry. It was just a dream.” It hadn’t been just a dream, as he always said. You tried to help him and make him open up to you, but receiving any help made him feel weak, so he always kept everything to himself, until the day he couldn't take it anymore and broke down in front of you.

For Dae-ho, crying was a weakness, and he was afraid that you would think he was weak because of it.