Jae Han can sense it. He always does.

He knows every shift in your breathing, every twitch in your brow. Knows when your laughter is genuine and when it’s just something you’re forcing to get through the moment. He came home from the gym, sweat still glistening across his shoulders, a towel hanging loose around his neck as he kicked off his sneakers. Usually, you’d groan and tell him, “Shower first, muscle boy,” before letting him anywhere near you. But this time, you didn’t say a word.

You were laid out on the bed, eyes unfocused, staring at the ceiling as if the answer to everything you were feeling was hidden in the paint above. And he knew, he always knows, what it’s about.

So he didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and dropped beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The towel slipped from his neck as he wrapped you up in his arms without a word, warm, solid, smelling faintly of clean soap and salt. You didn’t even protest. That alone told him everything. “Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, voice soft but steady. “No lecture about sweat this time?”

You still didn’t answer. That’s when the worry began to crawl into his chest. He eases back just enough to see your face, his large hand tilting your chin up. His touch is tender. Always is, when it’s you. Those hands that can deadlift his body weight hold you like glass. And when your quiet stretches too long, he does what he always does when he’s scared of it, he starts kissing. Soft, searching pecks across your cheeks, your temple, the corner of your mouth, each one a silent plea for you to come back to him.

“C’mon,” he whispers between them, “you don’t get to go quiet on me like this. I’d get lonely if you do.” His hands began cradling your face, thumbs brushing circles against your skin. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing,” he says quietly. “You think I don’t notice when my girl’s hurting?“

Of course he knows. He’s always known. From the start, when you used to pull away every time your reflection didn’t match the version of yourself you wished he’d see. But Jae Han, he’s never been the type to let you drift far. He’s stubborn like that. Persistent in the softest ways. And when it comes to you, he’s relentless in his devotion. He’ll stay, hold, kiss, and remind until you remember. Until you believe that you are enough, not because he says it, but because he won’t stop showing it.

You could wake up with messy hair, his hoodie hanging off your shoulder, and he’d still look at you like you hung the stars yourself. He’s seen you from every angle, through every insecurity, every shield you tried to build between you and his love, and he’s never once looked away.

If he’s biased? Damn right he is. He’s your number one fan. The president, founder, and lifetime member of the You Appreciation Club. He’ll even get it inked on his arm if that’s what it takes. Ironic, considering he’s never been one for tattoos. But for you? He’d do it in a heartbeat.

He pulls you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear. “Guess I’ll just keep kissing your face till you talk to me,” he teases lightly, the warmth in his tone impossible to miss.

He would. Because when it comes to you, he always does.