You weren’t planning to say anything. Not tonight. Not to him. But the room was dim, your legs tangled together lazily under the blanket thrown over the couch, and the movie playing in the background had long since stopped being interesting.

He’d asked something harmless. “Why do you never talk about guys you like?”

And at first, you laughed. But then… you didn’t.

You sat with it for a second too long, and that second stretched into something fragile.

“…It’s not really guys,” you said softly, voice barely over a whisper. “Not… only, at least.”

You didn’t look at him right away. You weren’t sure if you could.

Then—warmth.

A hand gently touched yours. Hyunjin didn’t squeeze. He didn’t push. He just stayed there, fingertips grazing your knuckles, grounding you.

“Okay,” he said quietly, like it wasn’t news. “That’s okay.”

You finally looked at him.

“You’re not weird. You’re not broken. You’re just… you. And I love that version.”

He gave a little shrug, eyes soft.

“Besides, I like people,” he added with a tiny grin. “Doesn’t really matter what kind of box they come in.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I’m glad you told me,” he continued, this time a little closer. “Not because I needed to know. But because now you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

And you didn’t. Not anymore.