She didn't even look up.
And he didn't deserve to ask.
Not after he told her not to come close.
The silence stretched. The clock ticked past midnight.
She kept working, head bowed, hair falling forward as she scribbled slowly, her grip on the pen faltering every few lines.
He didn't sleep.
Not even when the light in the corner lamp began to flicker slightly, casting long shadows across the room.
She slumped forward sometime past 12:30, still in her chair, her cheek resting lightly against her arm on the desk, pen still loosely held in her fingers.
Her breathing slowed.
She had finally dozed off.
But her hand — the injured one — remained awkwardly bent, bruised and swollen.
Quietly, carefully, he got up.
His footsteps made no sound on the carpeted floor as he walked to the cupboard and pulled open the drawer where the first aid box now lived.
He carried it back and knelt beside her.
For a long second, he didn't move.
Just looked at her — her tired face, the slight crease in her brow even in sleep, the soft breaths through parted lips.
Then, gently, as if touching glass, he lifted her hand.
She stirred slightly, fingers twitching.
He paused.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
So quietly, like the words were afraid to exist.
She whimpered softly when he dabbed antiseptic over the bruised skin.
"I'm sorry…" he said again, barely breathing the words now. "For not stopping him… for pushing you away…"
She didn't wake.
But her brows pulled tighter for a second, and he slowed down.
With hands softer than she'd ever known from him, he began to wrap the bandage.
Not rushed.
Not clinical.
Like a man wrapping guilt itself — trying to hold it together before it spilled out again.
Each tug of the bandage came with another apology.
Each knot tied with a regret he couldn't take back.
When he finished, he sat there a little longer, her hand still in his.
And even though she was asleep, and even though she hadn't heard a word…
He still whispered one last thing.
"You didn't deserve to face that alone."
Then, slowly, he placed her hand back gently, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear… and returned to the mattress.
He didn't sleep.
Not that night.
Because for the first time since this all began…
He didn't know how to forgive himself.
Next Morning – 6:34 AM
The sky outside was still sleepy, a gentle wash of pastel blue and pale pink. Morning had just barely begun.
Y/N stirred in her seat, blinking against the warm sunlight peeking through the curtain. Her neck ached, and her body protested as she sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.
She looked down.
Her hand was wrapped.
Perfectly. Neatly. Carefully.
A soft smile curved her lips before her mind even processed anything else. She gently cradled her injured hand, thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage.
There was only one person who could've done this.
Her eyes moved quietly to the mattress.
He was still asleep, one arm draped over his eyes like usual, breathing steady.
Y/N didn't say anything loudly. She just whispered, as if it was a secret for only the morning breeze to hear—
"Thanks… Mr. Actor."
He didn't move.
But as she stepped into the washroom to get ready, a tiny smile appeared on his sleeping face. Barely there.
Like his heart had finally heard her call him that again — after what felt like years.
---
By 7:45 AM, the house was slowly waking up. Birds chirped faintly outside, someone started a motorbike down the lane, and the kitchen clinked with breakfast preparations.
But Y/N was already gone.
Dressed, bag over her shoulder, earbuds in, eyes tired but determined.
Three more days passed the same way.
She'd leave early before he even got out of bed. Come home tired, sometimes helping her siblings with homework, sometimes skipping dinner entirely because of how busy university had gotten.
She didn't avoid him.
But she didn't speak to him either.
Not much, at least.
A nod here. A "Salam" there. That was it.
She hadn't called him "Mr. Actor" again.
And he noticed.
Every time.
---
Day 1 of Silence:
He stood near the lounge window, watching her leave without a word. His hand hovered as if he wanted to stop her. Ask her something. Anything.
He didn't.
That night, he stared at the ceiling.
He missed her jokes already.
---
Day 2 of Silence:
He watched her laugh with her younger brother about something in their textbook. Her smile made the whole room brighter.
But it wasn't for him.
Not anymore.
He turned away quickly, pretending to read something on his phone. But his chest ached.
---
Day 3 of Silence:
He waited in the kitchen before she left.
Just to say "Good morning." Just to hear her voice.
But she only gave a small polite smile as she grabbed her bottle and headed out the door.
No teasing. No calling him Mr. Actor.
No warmth.
Just silence.
---
And with every passing hour…
He missed her more.
He missed her loud footsteps, her dramatic gasps, the way she'd say "Mr. Actoooor~" in that teasing sing-song voice.
He missed how she'd giggle while explaining random memes to him, even though he didn't understand them.
He missed her warmth.
He missed her chaos.
He missed her.
And now, he realized something…
He wasn't just missing her presence.
He was regretting everything he said.
Day 4 – 6:52 AM
As usual, Y/N had already left.
Quietly. Without a word.
But this time, as Kim Bum sat on the couch staring blankly at the floor, a quiet shuffle of footsteps approached. Y/N's dad entered the lounge and sat beside him — not saying anything for a second. Just… sitting.
The silence hung comfortably before he finally spoke.
"Do you like her?"
Kim Bum didn't even look surprised. He gave a slow, honest nod, eyes still fixed on the floor.
"Yes."
Y/N's dad gave a small hum of understanding, then folded his arms loosely.
"Then why didn't you tell her the reason you were ignoring her?" he asked gently, not accusing — just curious.
Kim Bum stayed quiet.
A second passed. Then another.
Finally, he exhaled and whispered, "Because I was scared…"
Y/N's dad didn't press further. Instead, he gave a quiet chuckle.
"You know... she's like her mom when she's hurt. She doesn't scream, doesn't throw things. She just becomes silent."
"And silence is always harder to bear than anger."
Kim Bum's chest tightened. He slowly turned to look at the man beside him.
Y/N's dad continued, voice calm, comforting. "She won't ask you twice. Not when she thinks she wasn't wanted in the first place."
There was a pause.
Then he patted Kim Bum's shoulder lightly.
"If you like her… show her. Not with grand things. But with the small ones she notices. She sees more than she says."
For the first time in four days, Kim Bum felt like he could breathe again.
Just a little.
Like someone had cracked open a window in a locked room.
Y/N's dad stood up, grabbing his keys from the side table.
"I have to pick her up from university," he said casually.
But just before leaving, he paused at the door and added one last thing, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile:
"She hasn't stopped thinking about you, you know. Even if she's pretending she has."
The front door shut gently.
And Kim Bum sat there…
Smiling.
---
Later – At University Parking Lot
Y/N's dad pulled the car over and spotted her near the gate. She walked up, tired but with a faint smile.
She slipped into the seat with a small sigh. "Thank you, Appa."
He glanced at her sideways.
"Y/N…"
She hummed, adjusting her bag.
"If he asked you not to talk or to ignore him… you're really following that?"
She went quiet, eyes lowering. Then she gave a soft sigh, speaking honestly.
"I really want to know why, Appa. I really do…"
"But I got so busy with university work, I didn't want to push it either."
He chuckled.
"He realized today he shouldn't have said that."
Her head turned sharply. "Really?" Her tone was confused, hopeful.
He nodded, calm.
Y/N blinked, then softly chuckled under her breath.
"Let's buy burgers for everyone," she said with a grin.
Her dad smiled and nodded.
"Okay."