"Let's go somewhere."
I fell into step beside him, my hand still hovering near his, unsure whether to reach for it again. He kept his head down, fingers gripping his bag strap like it was a lifeline.
"…Do you always walk like this?" I muttered, tone sharp but tinged with concern.
He flinched slightly. "…Like what?"
"Like the world's about to eat you alive," I snapped, gesturing vaguely at the street, though it was mostly the people around us. "…And like you've got no armor at all."
He swallowed, eyes flicking up for a split second before dropping again. "…Maybe I'm just… careful," he whispered.
I arched an eyebrow. "…Careful or terrified?"
"…Both," he admitted softly. "…I don't… I don't want anyone to see me like this."
I glanced at him, noticing the tremble in his shoulders. "…You really think I care what anyone else thinks? You are the one who hates having a good reputation."
He shook his head quickly. "…No… but… I can't help it."
I let out a frustrated sigh. "…You're impossible, you know that?"
"…Maybe," he whispered, almost shyly, "…but I can't help feeling like you… you might not be here if I falter."
"…Do you think I'd let that happen?" I asked sharply, though my voice softened by the end.
"…I don't know," he admitted. "…I've never… had anyone care like this before."
I froze, my chest tightening. "…Never?"
"…No," he murmured, voice barely audible. "…Not really."
I kept walking, but my mind was a storm. Care like this? I wanted to tell him he didn't have to worry, that I'd always be there. But I couldn't. Not yet.
We reached the office entrance. He paused, looking at the doors like approaching a battlefield.
"…Hey," I said softly, stepping closer. "…You're not alone."
He hesitated, then nodded, forcing his shoulders back. "…I'll… manage."
I didn't argue. I just watched him walk inside, small and tense, yet stubborn in his way.
I lingered outside a moment longer, hands gripping the railing, heart heavy. "…Why does it feel like I've known him forever, even though I barely have?" I muttered to myself.
And for the first time, I realized — I didn't just want to keep him safe. I didn't want to let him go at all.
I followed him inside, careful to keep my presence subtle — or at least I tried.
The moment we entered, I noticed the way some coworkers glanced at him, whispering behind their hands. He stiffened, fingers gripping his bag strap tighter.
"…Ignore them," I muttered under my breath, though I knew he could hear me.
He didn't respond, just swallowed and adjusted his posture, forcing himself to look confident.
"…Seriously, Woo-jin," I said, voice low but sharp. "You're the one who hated having a reputation. Plus I'm here so uhm…you're not alone? "
He froze, eyes darting toward me, blue and hesitant. "…I… I'm fine," he whispered. "…Really."
"…Bullshit," I snapped, stepping closer. "…Look at your hands. Look at your shoulders. You're tense enough to snap in half, and you call that fine?"
He swallowed again, jaw tightening. "…I just… I don't want anyone to think I need help," he said quietly. "…Especially… Saebri."
"…Saebri?" I echoed, frowning. "…You're scared of him?"
He nodded, lips pressed thin. "…He… makes it hard. I can't… I just… I don't want you to see me weak."
I exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. "…I'm not here to see you weak, Woo-jin. I'm here because I uhm…. That's the role of a good husband? I still hate you. You think I'll just stand by and watch you get hurt?"
He blinked, a flicker of something like guilt crossing his face. "…I… I just…"
"…No," I interrupted, voice low but firm. "…No excuses…. Just use me at your work if you're suffering."
He swallowed, letting his shoulders drop just a fraction. "…I… I trust you," he admitted softly, voice trembling.
I felt my chest tighten. "…You're unbelievable," I muttered, partly to myself.
"…Maybe," he whispered, a faint, shaky laugh escaping. "…But I'm glad you're here."
I couldn't argue. I just let him slip ahead, walking through the office like he was fragile glass, knowing if anyone so much as glanced wrong, he might shatter.
And despite everything — despite his silence, his fear, his stubborn pride — I realized: I wasn't ready to let him face the world alone.
I stayed close behind him, keeping a careful distance but ready to step in if anyone tried something. I saw him practising for his play. Hell he's actually quite skilled. He kept his eyes forward, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched around his bag strap.
"…You really think they're all going to bite your head off?" I muttered quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
He flinched and whispered, "…I… I don't know. Maybe…"
I shook my head, exasperated. "…You've got to stop underestimating yourself. You're not weak, Woo-jin. What the hell has happened to you? You were so brave!"
"…I'm scared," he admitted softly, almost too quietly. "…I've… I've never felt this exposed."
"…Exposed?" I echoed, tone low, sharp. "…You're not a child. You don't have to cower behind your bag."
He swallowed hard, jaw tight. "…I… I just don't know how to… be brave."
"…Brave isn't the point," I said, voice softening. "…The point is that you don't have to be alone. I'm right here. And no one's touching you as long as I'm around."
He looked up at me for a brief moment, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "…You… really mean that?"
"…Do I look like I'm joking?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to hide the ache in my chest.
He shook his head, a faint, shaky laugh escaping. "…No… I… I just… I'm not used to anyone… caring like this."
I exhaled, glancing around at the office. "…Figures. You never let anyone in."
"…I… I didn't want to seem constantly humiliated.," he admitted softly, still clinging to his bag. "…I'm just very sensitive…and weak..."
"…Not weak," I corrected, tone firmer. "…Vulnerable. And there's a difference. You're not weak because you need someone. You're brave enough to let me stand here with you and to embarrass me."
He froze for a second, swallowing hard. "…I… I guess…"
"…Guess what?" I prompted, narrowing my eyes.
"…I… trust you," he whispered, almost breathless. "…Even if I don't… know why yet."
I felt my chest tighten, and for the first time, I noticed how small he looked in the harsh fluorescent light of the office, how fragile he seemed despite his stiff posture. "…You're impossible," I muttered, voice low, almost tender.
"…Maybe," he whispered back, voice quivering slightly, "…but I'm glad you're here."
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he didn't need to be glad, he just needed to survive the day. But the words stuck in my throat, leaving only a tight lump in my chest.
And I realized, watching him walk through the office like he was walking on thin ice: I didn't want to let him go, not now, not ever.
By the time the workday ended, Woo-jin was slumped in exhaustion, his usual meticulous posture gone, shoulders drooping like he'd carried the weight of the entire office on his back. I fell into step beside him again, silent for a moment, letting the noises of the street wash over us.
"…You're heavy," I muttered, teasing to break the tension, though my chest ached at how small he looked.
He glanced at me, lips twitching in what might have been a weak attempt at a smile. "…Maybe you just don't notice the little things," he whispered, voice quiet and unsure.
"…Little things like what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"…Like… how I keep trying to pretend I'm okay," he murmured, "…even when I'm not."
I looked at him, really looked. And for a moment, the teasing words died on my lips. "…You don't have to pretend with me," I said softly. "…Not ever."
He swallowed, gaze dropping to the sidewalk. "…I… I don't know why I… trust you so easily," he admitted, voice trembling. "…We barely… we barely even know each other."
"…Maybe," I said quietly, "…but sometimes… it doesn't matter how long you've known someone. Some people… just feel like they belong, right from the start."
He didn't answer, just walked beside me, silent, shoulders tense but less rigid. And as we reached the corner where he would turn toward his apartment, I realized how fast my chest was tightening.
"…Hey," I said softly, stopping him. He looked up, blue eyes wary. "…You're not going to disappear on me, right?"
He blinked, uncertain, voice small. "…I… I won't… disappear," he whispered.
I nodded, satisfied enough for now, though my heart still pounded. "…Good. Because I… I won't let you."
He looked down at his hands, then back at me, a faint smile breaking through, fleeting but genuine. "…Funny…" he murmured. "…You said… you'd never stop caring for me."
"…I won't," I replied, voice low, steady. "…No matter what."
And as he finally turned the corner, disappearing into the warm glow of his apartment lights, I stood there, hand lingering in the empty air where his had been, thinking:
Why does it feel like I've known him longer than I really have?
A shiver ran down my spine, but it wasn't cold — it was the ache of realizing I couldn't imagine letting him go, not now, not ever.