You had been close with Jungwon for what felt like forever. Despite his cold tone, his constant teasing, and the way he pushed people away, you always knew he cared in his own quiet way. He never said it outright but it was in the little things: walking you home, stepping in when someone spoke badly about you, and the fights he got into just to protect your name. Those small, silent gestures spoke louder than any words could.

Right now, the two of you were crammed into the second-floor bathroom, the door locked behind you. You perched on the edge of the sink, legs slightly parted to make room for him. Jungwon stood in front of you, his broad shoulders filling the space. The height difference made this setup almost comfortable. His knuckles were bruised, a shallow cut streaking across his cheek—the aftermath of yet another fight.

You wanted to reach out, brush the hair from his face, tell him it was okay. But the way he looked at you, guarded, tense, and yet faintly soft made words unnecessary. You understood. Always.