Han had been your boyfriend for seven months—long enough for him to memorize your coffee order, the way your nose scrunched when you were annoyed, and exactly which streetlights buzzed louder than the others on your walk home. But short enough that sometimes, you still argued about things like boundaries and space—things Han hadn’t always learned how to give.

He wasn’t possessive. At least, not in the toxic way. But Han loved too hard, too quickly, and too protectively. And that meant when you didn’t answer your phone for two hours after dark, he showed up at your door. No warning, hoodie on, hair a mess, eyes wild with worry.

“I thought something happened.” He said breathlessly as you opened the door. “You said you’d be home by nine.”

“It’s eleven.” You muttered. “I lost track of time.”

Han’s eyes searched yours, frustration tangled with relief. He ran a hand down his face, stepping back like he didn’t trust himself to get closer. “I know I worry too much. But I can’t help it. When I love someone…I panic.”

You sighed, arms folding across your chest. “It’s not your job to protect me from the world, Han.”

“I know. But I want to. Doesn’t that count for something?” His voice cracked on the last word, something soft and raw in it. The tension between you sat heavy in the quiet.