Ra-hee had never seen Jae-hyun cry.
He bled. He bruised. He screamed in rage, gritted his teeth through pain, and clenched his fists through betrayal—but he never cried. Not even when he held the dying body of his right-hand man. Not even when bullets ripped through his side. Not even when she, the woman he once tried to push away, stood before him and said, "I'm staying, even if it kills me."
But tonight… tonight was different.
He didn't cry with tears. He cried with silence.
Ra-hee watched him from the kitchen, arms crossed tightly, lips pressed into a trembling line. She had made soup—his favorite, the one his grandmother used to make, which he admitted once after a bottle of soju and a cracked rib. He hadn't touched it. Not even a spoonful.
The bowl sat on the table, steaming gently—ignored, like her.
Jae-hyun sat on the couch, elbows on knees, staring into the void that only he could see. The light above him flickered from a faulty wire. He hadn't moved in hours.
"Say something," Ra-hee whispered. "Please."
Still, he said nothing.
Her throat tightened as frustration built inside her. "Why do you do this? Why do you bury everything until it chokes you?"
Jae-hyun didn't flinch, didn't glance up. His voice, when it finally came, was gravel and smoke. "I saw her again."
Ra-hee blinked. "Who?"
He raised his eyes slowly, and they were so hollow, it made her stomach twist.
"My mother."
Silence.
Ra-hee had heard of her once, in passing, when he was drunk and thought she was asleep. He had whispered a name—Mi-young—and then never spoken of her again.
"She was walking along the edge of the Han River. It wasn't really her. Just a woman with the same back, the same scarf. I… I followed her for three blocks like some desperate ghost."
Ra-hee stepped closer, slowly. "And then?"
"She turned around." His voice cracked. "It wasn't her. Just a stranger. But I couldn't breathe. My chest just… I don't know."
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly. "I stood there like an idiot, heart pounding like she had come back from the dead. And in that moment, I felt like a child. Helpless. Forgotten."
Ra-hee knelt beside him, gently placing her hand on his knee.
"She left when I was seven," he murmured. "Said she was going to the market. Never came back. Cops said she probably ran. My father told me it was my fault. That I cried too much, made her life hell."
Ra-hee's heart broke a little. She had never heard him speak about this before. Not in pieces. Not like this.
"She didn't leave because of you," she said gently.
"How do you know?" he snapped, but the fire behind the question burned out immediately. "Maybe she did. Maybe I was always a burden."
Ra-hee rose, sat beside him now, shoulder to shoulder.
"You think you're a burden. You think love is fragile. You think if someone stays, it's out of pity. But I didn't choose you because I felt sorry. I chose you because beneath all of this…" She placed her hand on his chest, over his pounding heart, "There's still a boy inside who believes he can't be loved. And I want to prove him wrong."
He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back against the couch. The rain outside intensified, tapping against the windows like it wanted in—wanted to wash the pain from the room.
"I saw a kid on the street the other day," Jae-hyun murmured. "He was about eight. He was shivering, selling gum. He looked just like I did back then. I wanted to give him everything. My wallet, my jacket, my name. But I didn't. I froze."
"You're not heartless, Jae-hyun."
"I don't know what I am anymore."
Ra-hee reached up, brushing her fingers along his cheek. "You're broken. But you're not beyond saving."
He finally looked at her, truly looked at her, like he was seeing her soul and not just her face.
And then—just for a second—his eyes shone.
A tear.
One tear.
It slid down his cheek, silent and defiant. He didn't move to wipe it away.
Ra-hee leaned in and kissed it, pressing her lips softly to his skin. "That's the bravest thing I've ever seen you do."
Jae-hyun closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his voice was so small, it shattered her.
"Don't leave."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"With every beat of my heart."
And finally, Jae-hyun pulled her into his arms. Not the possessive, dominant kind of embrace he was used to giving. This one was different—softer. Vulnerable. Like a boy hugging the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally.
Ra-hee rested her head against his chest, listening to the storm both outside and inside him.
It would pass.
But not tonight.
Tonight, they'd hold each other like they were the last shelter left in a world full of fire.
To Be Continued...