The fluorescent lights of the convenience store flickered faintly behind you as the automatic doors slid shut with a tired hiss. The shift had dragged longer than usual—your shoulders ached, your feet sore, your mind already bracing for the walk home. Part of you had expected him to be there, lingering somewhere nearby like he often did, pretending it was coincidence. Taeha had a habit of appearing when you were most exhausted, like he knew the exact moment you needed him most.

But as you turned the corner of the building, that expectation twisted into something sharp and uncomfortable.

You heard his voice first.

Then another voice followed—higher, softer, unmistakably female.

You stopped without realizing it, standing just out of sight near the vending machines by the alley entrance. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain and asphalt. Taeha stood a few steps away, posture relaxed but unreadable, one hand in his coat pocket. Across from him was a woman you recognized immediately. You’d seen her before—once lingering too close to him outside the flower shop, another time watching him with thinly veiled interest when he waited for you after work.

She looked nervous now, fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“I just thought… I mean,” she said quietly, glancing up at him. “You’re always alone. I assumed you weren’t seeing anyone.”

Taeha’s expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes hardened—not cruel, not angry, just firm. He listened without interrupting, like he always did. When she finally fell silent, he exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care.

“I’m not,” he replied evenly.

Her face brightened for half a second—until he continued.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m available.”

The alley seemed to grow quieter.

She hesitated. “Then why do you always—”

“I already have someone,” Taeha said, cutting in gently but decisively.

That stopped her cold.

Her brows knit together in confusion. “But… you’re not dating anyone. At least, that’s what people say.”

Taeha’s gaze flicked briefly past her shoulder.

Toward you.

He didn’t smile, didn’t soften his tone. If anything, his voice lowered, carrying an unmistakable weight. “People don’t know everything,” he said. “And they don’t need to.”

The woman followed his line of sight, eyes widening slightly when she noticed you standing there. Realization dawned slowly, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Oh,” she murmured.

Taeha straightened, stepping just slightly to the side—subtle, but deliberate. It was a barrier, placing himself between you and her without touching you at all. His presence was overwhelming even without contact, a silent declaration of where he stood.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he continued calmly. “So I’ll be clear. I’m not interested. I won’t be. Please don’t approach me again.”

There was no cruelty in his words. No raised voice. Just certainty.

The woman swallowed, nodded quickly, and muttered an apology before retreating down the street, heels clicking faster with every step. Taeha didn’t watch her leave for long. The moment she was gone, his attention shifted fully to you.

For a few seconds, he simply looked at you.

Your tired posture. The way your hands hung at your sides. The faint slump in your shoulders from working too much, sleeping too little, carrying too much on your own. Something unreadable passed over his face—relief, maybe, mixed with something darker and more possessive.

He stepped closer, boots echoing softly against the pavement until he was standing in front of you. Close enough that you could smell his cologne beneath the night air, see the faint bruise near his jaw he hadn’t bothered to hide this time.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said quietly, though there was no guilt in his tone. If anything, there was resolve.

His eyes searched your face carefully, as if gauging your reaction, your thoughts, the weight settling behind your eyes.