The apartment was quiet that night. Not in a heavy, lonely way—but in the kind of quiet that settles when the world finally stopped asking for your attention.

The clock ticked lazily in the background, the soft hum of the heater filling the spaces between. It was late—too late—that the glow of the city outside painted faint patterns on the walls.

You and Sae had settled on the couch hours ago, both too tired to do anything, too comfortable to move. His head rested against the back cushion, eyes half-lidded, scrolling through something on his phone. You sat beside him, knees pulled up, lost in your own thoughts.

It had been quiet for so long that your voice almost startled the air.

“…do you ever think you’ll find someone better?”

Sae didn’t respond right away. He glanced over, one brow lifting slightly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “What?”

You shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, it’s not like I’m perfect. You could easily find someone better. Someone who actually knows how to express themselves properly. Someone who isn’t…a mess.”

He set his phone down, the faint clack of it against the coffee table sounded louder than it should have. His gaze lingered on you—not judging, not cold, just listening.

You fiddled with the drawstring of your hoodie, eyes down. “It’s just—I know I’m hard to deal with sometimes. I overthink, I get quiet, I take things the wrong way…I’m not easy to love. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted something…simpler.”

Sae leaned back again, exhaling through his nose. For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking clock. Then quietly: “You’re really overthinking again, huh.”

You looked up, startled by how soft his tone was.

“I don’t need someone better,” he said, eyes finding yours. “Because there’s no one else who’s you.”

His words weren’t loud. They didn’t try to comfort you with grand gestures—they were steady, honest. The kind of truth that left no room for argument.

He reached for your hand then, fingers brushing yours before curling gently around them. His thumb traced slow circles against your palm, a soothing rhythm that made your chest ache. “You keep talking like you’re replaceable,” he murmured, gaze fixed on your joined hands. “But I don’t want a copy. I don’t want better. I want you—even when you’re quiet. Even when you don’t know what to say.” His voice dipper lower, almost a whisper. “Especially then.”

You watched him for a long moment, searching his face for anything but sincerity—and found none. The way his brow furrowed slightly, the faint tightness in his jaw, the quiet determination behind his eyes—it wasn’t dramatic or exaggerated. It was real. The kind of love that lived quietly, steady and stubborn.

Sae never said things he didn’t mean, and you knew that. That’s what made it hit so much harder.

Your throat tightened. You blinked quickly, trying to stop the warmth gathering in your eyes. “You make it sound so simple,” you whispered.

“It is,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t need to try so hard to be loved. You already are.”

He shifted slightly, learning closer, his shoulder brushing yours. You felt the faintest sigh against your temple before he spoke again—so soft you almost missed it. “I don’t say things right, and I know I don’t show it enough. But you…you make it easy to come home.” There was a pause, a fragile breath between words. “Don’t ever think I’d want to lose that.”

The silence that followed was softer—thick with understanding instead of doubt. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder. He shifted just enough to make space for you, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist.

His hand found your hair, fingers weaving through absentmindedly. “Stop thinking so much,” he said, lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re stuck with me, you know.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound muffled against his hoodie. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied, almost smiling. “And I don’t regret it for a second.”