tyramarta
Across the street, there's a window that never turns off.
Jake notices it first-the soft glow at impossible hours, the quiet figure that stands too still, too long, like he's holding something in.
He doesn't know his name.
Doesn't know his story.
Just that something feels... wrong.
Sunghoon knows better than to be seen.
By day, he is perfect-disciplined, silent, untouchable.
By night, he learns how to endure.
Bruises fade.
Scars don't.
And weakness is not something he's allowed to show.
But sometimes, when the lights are low and the world is quiet...
he feels it-
Eyes on him.
Not judging.
Not demanding.
Just... there.
Then the cold comes.
A storm that traps them between walls of ice and silence, forcing distance into closeness, strangers into something softer-something dangerous.
Because warmth doesn't just mean survival.
It means being seen.
And neither of them is ready for that.