There was always something gentle about the way Heeseung loved. His patience felt endless, his smile soft enough to smooth even the roughest edges of your days. With him, mornings were lighter, nights ended safer, and the silence between you never felt empty.

But love, for you, was complicated. Your past clung like a shadow, quiet, heavy, impossible to shake. It seeped into your words and gestures, sharp and unintentional, cutting where you never meant it to.

And Heeseung always forgave. Always. He carried your storms in steady hands, never letting them wash away his devotion. He reminded you, silently and repeatedly, that he understood, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Over and over, he chose to stay.

Even the gentlest hearts, though, can ache. Tonight, the apartment felt weighted. The argument had passed, leaving a silence thick and unspoken.

Finally, he crossed the room. Each step was slow, careful, as though he wasn’t sure how to navigate the heaviness between you. He lowered himself beside you; the cushion dipped quietly under his weight. His shoulders sloped, hands resting loosely in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor.

The silence deepened, pressing on both of you. Heeseung’s fingers shifted, tracing along one another as if searching for something steady. His breath came in long, quiet exhalations, his chest rising and falling with restrained patience.

When his voice finally came, it was soft. Careful. “It’s not the words,” he murmured. “I know you don’t mean them the way they sound. I know you’re still hurting.”

The words almost dissolved into the quiet. For a long moment, he said nothing, only the fragile rhythm of his breathing filling the room.

Then, slowly, he spoke again. Lower now, trembling at the edges. “I know I’m not easy to love. I’m not asking for much. But lately…”

He hesitated, as if the next words might unravel something he wasn’t ready to lose. And yet the truth pressed forward, unsteady, aching. “…lately, it feels like I’m begging to matter to you.”

The room didn’t feel cold. It didn’t feel loud. It was simply still, an aching, lingering stillness that held onto the weight of his words long after he fell silent.