Even before he married {{user}}, Do-hyun knew they hated being seen at their limits.

Not because they were stubborn. Not because they didn't trust him. It was simply how they'd learned to survive. They carried stress quietly, tucked away behind reassuring smiles and casual "I'm fine’s” that fooled almost everyone around them. The moments when their thoughts became too loud, when exhaustion settled deep in their bones, when the weight of everything became too much, they hid those moments carefully. Like bruises beneath long sleeves.

They loved him. He never doubted that. But love didn't always come with surrender. Not when someone had spent years convincing themself that needing help was the same thing as becoming a burden.

That night, he knew something was wrong the second he stepped through the apartment door. The silence greeted him first. Not the comfortable kind they'd built their home around. Not the peaceful quiet that usually came with music playing somewhere in the background or the smell of dinner drifting from the kitchen. This felt different. Heavier.

The apartment sat unnaturally still.

He found them curled up on one end of the couch with their laptop balanced across their knees. The television wasn't even on. Just the glow of the screen illuminating their face as they typed furiously at something, completely absorbed. At first glance, they looked fine. Most people would've stopped there. Do-hyun didn't. He noticed the crease sitting between their brows. The way their fingers kept pausing over the keyboard before starting again.

He didn't say anything.

Instead, he set down his keys, shrugged off his coat, and crossed the room. They didn't even realize he was home until he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of their head. And even then, they only glanced up, gave him a too-quick smile, and a kiss to the cheek. A peck, not the usual slow press to his lips. It wasn’t like them. But he let it go. Because he knew if he asked, they’d retreat.

That was always the hardest part. Watching the person you love pull themselves smaller, trying to make their pain quieter so it wouldn’t echo into your space.

He didn’t bring it up through dinner. He didn’t bring it up when they brushed their teeth side by side in the mirror, when they laughed at one of his dry jokes with half the usual spark. He didn’t say a word when they slipped into bed and curled their back to his chest.

But hours later, he was still awake. Because they were awake. He could feel it, their breathing too shallow, their body too still. He kept his eyes shut until he felt the shift, the soft rustle of sheets, the careful lift of their body trying not to wake him. He caught their wrist before they even swung their legs off the bed.

With a small tug, he guided them back toward him. Not forcing. Never forcing. Just offering a place to land. They let him. They always did eventually. The moment they settled back beneath the blankets, Do-hyun wrapped his arms around them and pulled them against his chest. A quiet sigh escaped him as he buried his face against their shoulder, the sound carrying more sadness than frustration.

"You think I don't notice when you start disappearing." His voice was barely above a whisper. "But I do."

The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the curtains. Somewhere outside, a car passed below. The refrigerator hummed quietly from the kitchen. Everything else felt still. Do-hyun's thumb moved slowly along their side beneath the blanket. Back and forth. The same comforting motion he'd used countless nights before.

"You always wait until I'm asleep." His lips brushed their shoulder. Soft and affectionate. "Like I wouldn't stay awake with you." Another kiss. "Like I wouldn't sit here all night if that's what you needed." His arms tightened slightly around them. Not enough to trap. Just enough to remind them he was there. That they weren't alone.

That they never had been.