Annyeongz One-shots

116. Anxious

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed softly above him, the sound so constant it had become part of Yujin’s heartbeat.

2:17 a.m.

He glanced at the clock again, fingers still scanning items at the counter, but his mind was somewhere else—home.

Always home.

“Thank you,” the last customer mumbled, grabbing their plastic bag and leaving. The automatic door slid shut with a soft hiss, and just like that, the store fell silent again.

Yujin exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping for a second before tensing again. He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over Wonyoung’s contact.

No new messages.

Good.

That meant she was sleeping.

That meant she was okay.

Right?

His grip tightened unconsciously. He forced himself to put the phone down, but his chest didn’t loosen. It never did anymore.

Not since the diagnosis.

Not since the doctor had said the words that still echoed in his head every single night—the same condition.

The same one his grandmother had.

The same one that took her away in her sleep.

Yujin swallowed hard, pressing his palm against his chest as if he could physically hold his heart together.

“I’m fine…” he muttered under his breath.

But he wasn’t.

—

By the time he got home, it was almost 3 a.m.

The apartment was quiet, dim, wrapped in that fragile stillness that only existed at night. Yujin slipped off his shoes quietly, careful—always careful—not to make a sound.

Because she needed rest.

Because every second of her rest mattered.

His eyes immediately found her.

Wonyoung.

She was lying on the bed, half-covered by the blanket, her breathing soft, almost too soft. Her face looked pale even in the faint light, her lips slightly parted as she slept.

For a moment, Yujin just stood there.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

His chest tightened.

Too quiet.

Too still.

His steps were slow as he approached the bed, like he was afraid that even the floor might betray him and take her away.

He sat down gently at the edge, barely making a dent in the mattress.

Then the familiar routine began.

Every night.

Every single night.

He leaned down.

Slowly.

Carefully.

His face moved closer to hers, his ear hovering just inches from her lips.

And then he held his breath.

Waiting to hear hers.

One second.