He didn't plan to say it.
The thought surfaced while he was doing something ordinary—standing at the sink, rinsing a cup that was already clean.
Ha-rin sat at the table behind him, scrolling through her phone. The room was calm. Too calm.
"…You've been quiet," she said.
"Yes."
"…That's not an answer."
"It is an observation," he replied, setting the cup down.
She watched him for a moment.
"…You're thinking," she said.
"Yes."
"…About what."
He hesitated.
That was new.
"…About timing," he said finally.
She raised an eyebrow. "…Whose."
"Ours."
She didn't respond immediately. She set the phone aside and leaned back in her chair.
"…That sounds serious."
"It is."
Silence stretched, but it didn't feel fragile.
"…You're worried," she said.
"Yes."
She studied him. "…About me."
"Yes."
"…About the agency."
"Yes."
"…About—" She stopped herself, then continued. "…About the future."
"Yes."
She let out a slow breath. "…That's a lot of yeses."
"It accumulates," he replied.
She nodded, accepting that.
"…I didn't think you were the type to worry," she said.
"I am," he said. "I simply do not display it."
"…That sounds unhealthy."
"It is efficient," he replied. Then, after a pause, "But not optimal."
She looked up at him.
"…Is that your way of admitting something."
"Yes."
He turned from the sink and faced her.
"…I am afraid," he said. "Not of what is happening. Of failing to anticipate what comes next."
She didn't interrupt.
"…I am afraid of missing something," he continued. "Of assuming stability where there is none."
"…You like control," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"…And this doesn't give you that."
"No."
She considered him carefully.
"…Then why do you look so calm."
"Because panic would reduce my effectiveness," he replied. "And because fear does not require expression to exist."
She smiled faintly.
"…You're strange."
"Yes."
She stood and walked closer, stopping a short distance away.
"…You don't have to anticipate everything," she said. "…You know that, right."
"I know it conceptually," he replied. "Practice is ongoing."
She nodded, accepting that answer too.
"…For what it's worth," she said, "…I'm scared too."
"Yes."
"…But not in the same way."
"No."
She looked at him, steady.
"…We'll figure it out," she said. "Not because we have a plan. But because we'll adjust."
"Yes," he replied.
That was enough.
She turned back toward the sofa, conversation apparently over.
Then paused.
"…Thank you," she said, without looking back.
"For what."
"…For saying it."
He nodded once.
Fear remained.
But it no longer sat alone