Shared Spaces & Hidden Desires • Seungcheol

93 - Presence

Seungcheol

She was right there—just a few feet away—but somehow, she felt miles from me.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her at the dining table, fingers moving slowly over her laptop keyboard. Her brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked focused... but it was that kind of focus that came from trying not to think. Not from clarity. Not from inspiration.

Just survival.

And I knew it.

She had moved around all day—picking up a few things, reading half a page here and there, standing still in the middle of rooms like she'd forgotten why she walked in. She was getting through it. But she wasn't here, not fully.

It happens from time to time. Ever since then.

And every single time, it breaks me all over again.

I hate feeling helpless. I hate that there's nothing I can do to fix it—no quick fix, no words strong enough to take the weight off her shoulders. I keep thinking... after everything, shouldn't she get a break? Shouldn't the universe give her that, at least?

But no. We go on. College doesn't pause for pain.

She shifted slightly, exhaling as she reread a paragraph on her screen. Her hand came up to rub at her eyes. Her tea was cold beside her. She hadn't touched it.

I moved without thinking, heading to the kitchen to make her a fresh one. Chamomile—she always said it helped her sleep, even if she rarely finished the cup. It's not about the tea. It's about the care.

I set it down beside her gently.

"Hey," I said, quietly so I didn't startle her. "Want to take a break?"

She barely looked up. "I'm fine."

Her voice was soft. Not annoyed—just tired.

"You can take a break if you need to, okay?" I said, sitting beside her. "Nothing's gonna fall apart if you rest for a bit."

She hesitated, then gave a small nod, still not meeting my eyes. I knew that nod. It was the same one she gave when she wanted to believe something, but couldn't quite get herself there.

I didn't push her. I just sat beside her, watching her blink at her screen.

And I hated this feeling. The not-knowing-what-to-do.

I wanted to pull her out of the fog, into the sun. I wanted to take the weight and carry it for her. But all I could do was sit there and be close. Be solid. Be hers.

So I did.

I reached over and gently touched her back, letting my hand rest there, warm and steady. She didn't say anything, but she leaned into it slightly.

It was enough. For now.

But God, I hope one day soon, she feels light again.

Not just surviving—but living.

YN

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft amber of the bedside lamp. My laptop sat closed on the desk now, the assignment finally done after hours of half-focus and long silences. Seungcheol had been next to me the whole time—barely saying a word, his hand warm and steady on the small of my back, fingers occasionally moving in slow circles that were more comforting than anything I could've asked for.

Now I was in bed, lying on my side, my back to him. I could hear him shifting slightly in the chair, then standing. The soft creak of the mattress when he sat on the edge. I didn't move.