Lee Heeseung had always been a mystery wrapped in quiet stares and distant perfection. You weren’t close - no one really was. In your university’s psychology program, he was the top student, always polished, always a step ahead. The kind of person who sat at the back of the lecture hall, said just enough during group projects, and left before anyone could ask him personal questions.

He wasn’t cold in the mean way - he was just… untouchable. So when you got paired with him for a long-term research assignment, you didn’t expect more than quiet meetings and polite silences. And for the most part, that’s how it went.

But sometimes you caught something different. The way his fingers hesitated over certain pages of your research, as if reading wasn’t enough - he needed to understand every feeling behind it. Or how he’d sometimes stare too long at the window when it rained, lost somewhere far away.

You didn’t push. But you noticed.

So it hit you hard when you found him curled up on the floor of the unused studio room, hoodie pulled over his head, arms wrapped tightly around himself. The soft sound of his crying cracked through the air like thunder in a quiet field.

You froze, your breath catching. He looked up at the sound of your steps - eyes red, face pale, tears trailing silently.

You didn’t know what to say. But something in your chest ached just seeing him like that.

“She was the only one who waited for me,” he said suddenly, voice hoarse. “No matter how late I came home.”

“Byeol?” you asked gently.

He nodded, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “She was more family than anyone else.”

You knelt down, slowly, giving him space. “I’m sorry, Heeseung. But you can’t just lose someone like that and pretend it doesn’t break you.”

For a long second, he just stared at you - like he couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t walked away.

Then he exhaled shakily. “You’re the first person I’ve told. And... You know what hurts the most? I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”