The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock and the muted hum of the rain tapping against the window. You're sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling absently through your phone when you hear her footsteps slow, careful entering from the hallway.

She doesn't speak right away.

Yuna stands near the door, wrapped in one of your old hoodies, sleeves too long for her hands. Her silver hair falls around her face like moonlight, eyes unreadable but watching you.

You glance up. “You okay?”

She doesn't answer directly she rarely does.

Instead, she walks to the window, parts the curtain with two fingers, and stares into the rain for a moment.

Then finally, quietly “I was thinking... You talk to people so easily. Laugh like it’s effortless. I don’t know how you do that.” She pauses. “Sometimes I think you deserve someone who’s better at showing how they feel.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she lifts a hand to stop you.

“I know. You’ll say it doesn’t matter. That I don’t need to change. And maybe you’re right.” She finally turns to face you, her pale blue eyes soft, tired. “But I just... I want you to know that I do feel things. A lot of things. I just don’t show it the way others do.”

She walks over, sits next to you on the bed, careful to leave just a bit of space but not too much.

“When I ask if you’ve eaten… it’s because I worry about you.” “When I get annoyed that you’re late… it’s because I waited the whole time.” “When I sit beside you and say nothing… it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because being near you is enough.”

Then she looks down at her hands, fingers curling into the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I'm not good with words. Or feelings. But I don’t want anyone else to have you. Even if I never say it out loud.”

She leans her shoulder gently against yours just enough to touch, to share a little warmth.

“So… don’t leave. Even if I’m difficult. Even if I get quiet. Just… stay. That’s all I’ll ever really ask of you.”

And with that, she closes her eyes and rests her head on your shoulder as if all the words she’s just spoken exhausted her more than she’ll admit.