Annyeongz One-shots

30. Broken Calm ( 3 )

The morning air in Manchester was crisp, carrying a faint hint of the stadium excitement already building blocks away. The families moved together in a quiet flurry of preparation. Yujin’s father reminded him to dress appropriately for the match, though Yujin barely seemed to care, slipping on a simple Manchester United jersey over a crisp white shirt. He slung his expensive camera over his shoulder — a gift to himself, but also, unknowingly, a shield for what he knew the day might bring.

Wonyoung was sitting quietly in her seat at the hotel breakfast table, her hands folded neatly. Her mother fussed over her, making sure she had eaten something substantial.

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” Mrs. Jang asked gently, placing a hand over her daughter’s.

“I… I think so,” Wonyoung said, voice barely above a whisper. Her stomach twisted in anxious anticipation; the thought of the roaring crowd, the smells, the sudden shouts — all of it reminded her of moments she had spent struggling in her childhood.

Her mother smiled softly. “We’ll take it slow. You have me and… Yujin will be with us.”

Wonyoung blinked at the mention of his name, frowning slightly. “I… don’t need him,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone. “I can handle it.”

Yujin, seated opposite her, was nonchalantly scrolling through his camera settings, pretending not to hear. In truth, he caught every flicker of her unease, every tightening of her jaw. His dark eyes, calm and precise, followed her like a shadow, measuring, assessing.

When the family finally arrived at Old Trafford, the stadium was already alive with thousands of fans. The chants, the clanging of drums, the booming speakers — it was an overwhelming wall of sound. Immediately, Wonyoung stiffened, her body rigid. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her mother’s arm.

“I… I can’t,” she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. Her breathing became shallow and rapid.

Yujin, walking beside them, noticed the subtle flinch. Without a word, he moved closer, sliding an arm lightly around the small of her back, a shield without drawing attention. “Focus on me,” he said calmly, voice low enough that only she could hear.

She blinked, startled. “I… I can’t—there’s too much noise—”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t force her. He guided her slowly down the walkway toward their private seating area, keeping his frame between her and the crowd. The roar of fans, the sudden flashes from phones, the chants, all seemed to fade slightly around the bubble Yujin created.

Wonyoung’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her scarf, but his presence — steady, unshakable, protective — made her chest loosen just a little. Her mother whispered reassuring words, but Wonyoung didn’t even hear them. Her attention was fixed on him, the calm in the chaos.

Once they were seated in the VIP section, slightly removed from the press of the crowd, Yujin gave a subtle nod toward her, indicating she could breathe now. He didn’t hover. He didn’t speak unnecessarily. He just existed as a buffer between her and the overwhelming energy of the stadium.

Wonyoung’s breathing began to normalize, though her hands still twitched nervously on her lap. She glanced at him, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. He was sitting next to her, one arm casually resting on the chair beside her, camera on his lap, but the aura of control, of quiet command, was impossible to ignore.

Yujin adjusted his camera, pretending to check the angles, but in reality, he kept an eye on her. When a sudden cheer erupted from the crowd, Wonyoung flinched. He lightly touched her shoulder, a silent signal: she was safe.