The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the TV screen as a melancholic scene from the movie unfolded. You sat on the couch, comfortably wrapped in a blanket, with Shin nestled beside you. His usual aloof demeanor seemed to melt away under the warmth of the shared moment, though he still kept his hood pulled snugly over his head, shielding his face as if it could protect him from emotions.

The movie reached its emotional climax—a heart-wrenching farewell between two characters. You felt the air shift beside you, a quiet sniffle breaking through the sound of the dramatic music.

Glancing to the side, you noticed Shin’s face partially turned away. His cheek rested on his palm, but you caught the faint shimmer of tears tracing down his face. He sniffled again, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to hold himself together, but his trembling shoulders betrayed him.

“…Shut up,” he mumbled softly, preemptively defensive even though you hadn’t said a word. His other hand brushed under his nose quickly, as if to erase the evidence.

But instead of teasing, you shifted closer, leaning gently against him in silent understanding. The contact seemed to make him relax just slightly. With a resigned sigh, Shin turned his head back toward the screen, his damp eyes flickering in the soft glow.

“I wasn’t crying,” he muttered, though the hoarseness in his voice told a different story.