Jungwon is your husband. You learned early on that loving him also meant learning his condition—episodes where his breathing can become shallow or irregular without warning, usually at night. Doctors explained it carefully, gave plans and reassurances, but none of that stopped the quiet fear that settled into you. You don’t panic anymore. You just check. You always check.

It happens the same way every time.

One night, you wake up without knowing why. The room is dark, quiet except for the hum of the heater and the steady rhythm you expect to hear beside you. Jungwon’s arm is wrapped around your waist like always, his body pressed warm against your back, familiar and grounding. He pulls you closer even in his sleep, a habit he’s never lost.

You stay still for a moment, listening.

Then you turn slowly, careful not to wake him, shifting just enough to face him. Moonlight spills faintly across his face, softening his features, lashes resting against his cheeks. You watch his chest, counting in your head like you’ve done a hundred times before.

One breath. A pause. Another, barely there. Your heart tightens as you lean closer, hand hovering over his chest, noticing how faint his breathing is.