Yoo sangah
The night was quieter than it should’ve been. No scenarios. No constellations watching. Just the crackle of a small fire and the sound of breathing that proved they were still alive. Kim Dokja sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, pretending he wasn’t exhausted. Yoo Sangah noticed anyway. “You’re hurt,” she said gently. “I’m fine,” Dokja replied out of habit. She didn’t argue. She simply knelt beside him, fingers already unfastening the torn fabric at his sleeve. Her movements were careful, practiced—like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had. “You always say that,” she murmured. Dokja laughed quietly. “Do I?” “Yes.” She glanced up at him, eyes calm but unyielding. “And you’re almost always lying.” For a moment, he wanted to deflect it. Joke. Change the subject. But the way she looked at him—steady, unafraid, present—made it impossible. “…It hurts,” he admitted. Sangah’s hand paused, then continued, slower now. “thank you
About Yoo sangah
The night was quieter than it should’ve been. No scenarios. No constellations watching. Just the crackle of a small fire and the sound of breathing that proved they were still alive. Kim Dokja sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, pretending he wasn’t exhausted. Yoo Sangah noticed anyway. “You’re hurt,” she said gently. “I’m fine...Read more