The wind settled into a steady rhythm, brushing past us like a reminder that time was still moving even if we felt stuck. The rooftop lights buzzed quietly, leaving dim halos on the concrete.
Jungho stayed beside me, arms still crossed, gaze fixed somewhere over the city but attention locked on me. He wasn't subtle. He never was when it came to keeping me alive.
"You're quiet," he said after a moment.
"I'm thinking."
"That's what worries me."
I huffed a small laugh. "You're impossible."
"You're worse," he replied. "You never say anything until it gets bad."
I didn't argue. He wasn't wrong.
We stood there for a while, letting the silence stretch. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was… necessary. The kind of silence that fills the spaces talking can't fix.
"You know," I said quietly, "sometimes I come up here because it feels like the only place that doesn't crush me."
Jungho didn't look surprised. Just sad. "Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Because you already do too much."
"That's not your decision to make." His voice softened. "Let me worry about you. It's allowed."
I rested my elbows on the railing. "I don't want to be a problem."
"You're not a problem," he said. "You're a person. My brother. Stop acting like your exhaustion is an inconvenience."
The words hit deeper than I expected. I blinked slowly, eyes burning from more than just the wind.
Jungho shifted his stance, his shoulder brushing mine. "You don't have to pretend with me."
"I'm not pretending."
He gave me a look. "Jay."
I let my head drop forward a little. "Okay. Maybe I'm pretending a bit."
"That's better," he said. "At least that's honest."
The wind tugged at my coat again. The air felt colder, but not sharp. Just real.
"I'm tired," I admitted. "Not like… physically. Just… tired in places that sleep doesn't fix."
Jungho's jaw tightened. Not in anger. In helplessness. "I know."
"I hate that you know," I muttered.
"I'd rather know than lose you."
My chest tightened. "You're not going to lose me."
"Good," he said. "Because I'd drag you back myself if I had to."
"Sounds violent."
"Effective."
I shook my head, a small smile forming. "You've always been dramatic."
"And you've always been reckless with yourself," he said. "It balances out somehow."
Another long silence. This one softer.
Jungho finally straightened. "Come down with me. Not home if you're not ready. Just… downstairs. Somewhere with lights and people."
I hesitated.
He noticed. "Jay."
"I just want a few more minutes," I said.
He studied me again, trying to figure out whether those minutes were safe.
"You'll stay where I can see you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You won't climb anything?"
I sighed. "No."
"You won't sit on the edge like an idiot?"
"Jungho."
He raised an eyebrow. "Answer."
"I won't," I said quietly. "I'm not here for that."
He exhaled, tension easing only a little. "Fine. Five minutes. I'll wait by the door."
He stepped back slowly, like he was walking away from a wounded animal that might spook if he moved too fast.
When he reached the rooftop entrance, he opened the door but didn't go in. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, watching me.
Trusting me.
But also ready to sprint if I did anything stupid.
The cold air hit my lungs again, this time a little easier. The city lights stretched out beneath me like a map of every burden I carried. But for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was carrying them alone.
Just five quiet minutes.
Five minutes where nothing demanded anything from me.
Five minutes where the world didn't feel like it was collapsing.
And for now, that was enough.
The five minutes passed quietly. When I finally stepped away from the railing, Jungho straightened, pushing the door open wider like he'd been preparing for it.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be."
We walked back into the stairwell light together. The rooftop door thudded softly behind us, sealing away the wind and the view. The elevator ride down was slow and humming, the same way it always felt after a long day. But with both of us inside, the silence wasn't heavy. Just familiar.
Jungho watched the floor numbers blink downward. "You're going straight home, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good." He didn't phrase it like a question. More like a command wrapped in concern.
When the doors opened, the two of us stepped out onto the near-empty lobby. The cleaning staff moved quietly in the corners, wiping down surfaces and emptying bins. The building finally felt calm, like even it needed a moment to breathe.
We walked to the parking area together. Our cars sat side by side—his sleek and polished, mine covered in a thin film of dust from too many late nights.
He stopped beside his door. "I'm heading back to the house," he said. "Mother's probably still up."
I nodded. I could picture it easily—warm lights, soft conversations, a family that still functioned like a unit even with all its cracks. The house we grew up in. The one I used to sleep in before my life turned into contracts and obligations and an arranged marriage signed before I had time to blink.
"Tell her I said good night," I said.
"I will." He reached for his door handle, then hesitated. "Jay."
I paused.
"You text me when you get home."
"I'm not a teenager."
"I don't care. Do it anyway."
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Fine."
Satisfied, he unlocked his car and stepped in. The engine came alive instantly, headlights washing the concrete with white light. Before pulling out, he lowered the window.
"And don't overthink tonight," he said.
"I'll try."
He didn't look convinced, but he nodded once and drove off.
When his taillights disappeared through the exit, the silence settled deeper around me. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.
My own car beeped as I unlocked it. The air inside was cold. I started the engine and leaned my head back for a moment before pulling out.
The drive home was short, but every red light felt longer than usual. Maybe because I knew what waited for me. Not a warm family home. Not a brother who checked if I was breathing.
A shared house.
A marriage built on paper.
Suha's place as much as mine, yet neither of us really belonged there.
When I parked outside, most lights in the neighborhood were already off. A quiet street, the one the company picked because it "fit the reputation of a COO."
I walked up the small path and unlocked the door.
The house was dark.
Suha must have gone to bed already. Or maybe she wasn't home. We didn't talk enough for me to know her schedule well anymore.
I slipped off my shoes at the entrance, the silence pressing in. No voices. No footsteps. No warmth drifting from another room.
Just a house.
Just the echo of my own breathing.
I set my keys down, loosened my tie, and stood there for a moment in the dim hallway.
Two brothers leaving the same rooftop.
One going home to family.
The other walking into a quiet, fragile arrangement.
I wasn't sure which one of us had it easier.
But tonight, at least, I wasn't drowning.
And that was something.