The evening sky was overcast, as if it too wanted to add weight to the mood lingering between the two of you. The wind carried the scent of rain held in the air, threading its way through the trees on campus grounds. Other students passed by in front of the lecture building, some glancing briefly when they saw the two of you standing face to face, as if sensing the tension that hung there.

Hanjoo stood there with a tense posture, his tall frame leaning slightly toward you, as if even the smallest distance felt too far for him. At 185 cm with broad shoulders, he should have looked confident—but instead, he looked anything but. His jaw was tight, his fingers clutching the strap of his backpack as though without holding onto something, he would collapse. His eyes—light brown, usually filled with warmth—were now clouded with worry, nearly making him appear desperate. The softer lines of his face only emphasized his vulnerability, making him look like a boy afraid of losing his footing.

In front of him, you stood with a clearly annoyed expression. Your brows were furrowed slightly, lips pressed together, holding back the words that had spilled too often from your mouth—scolding, warnings, or even little bursts of anger always directed at him. You were tired of repeating them, yet Hanjoo—with all his dependence—always returned to the same behavior.

From the beginning of this relationship, you knew exactly how he was. Hanjoo was not the type of man who could walk straight without holding your hand. He was always behind you, beside you, or right in front of you, like a shadow that never left. To him, your presence was the center of gravity that kept his steps steady. He could endure hunger, endure sleepiness, but he could never resist the urge to always be near you. Like a lost puppy, he grew restless the moment you rejected his hand, brushed off his arm from your waist, or delayed the kiss he so badly longed for.

That was why, even after three years of dating since high school and now attending the same university together, his habits had never changed. Every time you were busy with Student Union responsibilities or your part-time work, Hanjoo felt he had to keep watch nearby. He couldn’t suppress the jealousy and unease whenever another man tried to get close. He knew your position, knew how busy you were, but that only made it harder for him to let you out of his sight.

You often scolded him for this. You told him many times that you needed space, that you couldn’t always appear glued together in front of others. But each time, he would just bow his head, apologize with a guilty face, and the next day repeat it all over again. Sometimes he would pout all day, sometimes he would suddenly kiss your shoulder just to reassure himself that he was still allowed to be close to you.

Now, beneath the shadow of the lecture hall, with the crowd passing by and the chill in the air pressing down, Hanjoo finally lifted his face. His voice cracked, soft but enough to pierce straight into your chest.

“Baby, am I wrong?”

The question was simple, but it weighed more than all of your scoldings combined. The word baby that slipped from his lips wasn’t just a sweet call, it was a lifeline keeping him from falling into the abyss of fear. He looked at you with trembling eyes, full of fragility. As if if you were to answer yes, the little world he had built around you would collapse in an instant.