The night had a way of softening everything.
Ji-Hyun noticed it first in the way the city outside her window seemed less demanding—streetlights glowing instead of glaring, traffic humming instead of roaring. Even her thoughts, usually sharp and restless, felt rounded at the edges. She sat by the window with her knees pulled to her chest, watching reflections move across the glass like fleeting memories.
She hadn't expected Seon-Woo to come over.
Not tonight. Not after the long, exhausting day that had drained every ounce of energy from her bones. She had planned to sleep early, maybe scroll mindlessly until her eyes gave up. But when the knock came—soft, hesitant, unmistakably his—something in her chest loosened.
She opened the door without thinking too much.
Seon-Woo stood there holding a paper bag and wearing that familiar expression that always looked like he was half-worried, half-relieved to see her. His hair was slightly damp, probably from washing it in a hurry, and his jacket hung loose around his shoulders.
"I know it's late," he said, voice low. "I just… thought you might still be awake."
Ji-Hyun stepped aside, letting him in. "You thought right."
The apartment filled with his presence quietly, like a song you don't realize you've missed until it starts playing again. He set the bag on the counter, pulling out two cups of takeaway coffee.
"You didn't have to," she said.
"I wanted to."
They didn't say much after that. And somehow, that was enough.
They sat on the couch, shoulders not quite touching at first. The television played something neither of them paid attention to. Ji-Hyun wrapped her hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into her fingers.
"You look tired," Seon-Woo said gently.
She huffed a small laugh. "Seven hours nonstop. I think my brain clocked out before I did."
He nodded like he understood too well. "You always push yourself."
"And you always show up," she replied before she could stop herself.
The words hung between them—not heavy, but meaningful.
Seon-Woo turned slightly, studying her face like he was committing it to memory. "I worry about you," he admitted.
Ji-Hyun met his gaze. "You don't have to."
"I know. But I still do."
There was something steady about him in moments like this. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… there. A quiet presence that didn't demand anything from her, didn't expect her to be more than she was.
She leaned back into the couch, letting her head rest against it. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
"You can sleep if you want," he said.
"Stay," she murmured.
He did.
Time moved differently after that. Conversations drifted in and out—small memories, shared jokes, fragments of stories that didn't need endings. At some point, Ji-Hyun shifted, curling slightly toward him. Their arms brushed. Neither pulled away.
Instead, Seon-Woo adjusted, offering his shoulder without a word.
She rested her head there.
It felt natural. Too natural.
Her breathing slowed. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, grounding in a way she hadn't realized she needed. The world outside could have disappeared and she wouldn't have noticed.
"Seon-Woo," she said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever feel like… things are calm only when you stop running?"
He considered it. "I think calm finds you when you let someone walk beside you instead."
Her fingers curled lightly into his sleeve.
They stayed like that for a long while, until the coffee went cold and the night deepened. When Ji-Hyun finally stirred, it was only to shift closer, her knee brushing his.
Seon-Woo's hand hovered for a second—hesitant, respectful—before resting gently over hers.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she turned her face toward him. Their eyes met, close enough now to notice the tiny details—the faint tiredness under his eyes, the softness in his expression.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For being here. For not making things complicated."
He smiled, small and genuine. "You don't need to earn peace, Ji-Hyun."
Something warm settled in her chest.
The kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't dramatic. It was soft, careful, like a promise spoken without words. A moment that said I'm here more than I want.
When they pulled back, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching.
Outside, the city lights flickered on.
Inside, everything felt still.
And for the first time in a long while, Ji-Hyun didn't feel like tomorrow was something she had to face alone.