Ji-Hyun's house glowed softly in the early evening, the porch light already on like it had been waiting for him.
Marvello slowed at the gate, fingers brushing the metal briefly before letting go.
Ji-Hyun hesitated beside her, shoulders curled inward, glasses sliding down his nose as he stared at the familiar door like he wasn't sure he was allowed to relax yet.
Amanda leaned forward slightly, peeking past him with open curiosity. "It feels… warm," she said.
"Like the kind of place that smells like food all the time."
Ji-Hyun smiled without realizing it.
Before he could knock, the door opened.
His mother Mrs. Lee stood there, apron still tied at her waist, hair loosely pinned with strands already escaping.
The moment her eyes landed on Ji-Hyun, her breath caught.
"Oh—my baby."
She crossed the distance in two steps and wrapped her arms around him carefully, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles between his shoulders. Ji-Hyun melted instantly, face pressing into her chest.
"I was worried," she whispered. "You didn't answer your phone."
"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice small.
Then she looked up—and saw them.
Her gaze moved from Marvello's composed stillness to Amanda's bright, open expression.
"Oh," she said softly. "You must be his friends."
Marvello inclined her head. "I'm Marvello."
Amanda smiled immediately, wide and genuine. "Amanda. Hi. Your house is really pretty."
Ji-Hyun's mother blinked, surprised—then smiled back. "Thank you. Please, come in. Both of you."
Marvello Paused Hesitating, Amanda glanced at her with a smile, finally she nodded ,
''Why not?''
Ji-Hyun's father appeared behind her, taller, quieter, eyes tired but sharp. His gaze went straight to Ji-Hyun's bandaged nose and stiff posture.
"You walked him home," he said, not a question.
"Yes," Marvello replied. "Every day."
Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe.
Inside, the house wrapped around them—warm light, the low hum of a pot simmering in the kitchen, the faint scent of soup and clean cotton. Ji-Hyun kicked off his shoes automatically, shoulders dropping like he'd finally exhaled.
His mother poured tea, hands steady now. She handed the first cup to Marvello.
"Thank you," Marvello said, fingers brushing the warm ceramic.
They sat.
Amanda perched on the edge of the couch, legs crossed, posture relaxed but attentive. She took everything in—the framed photos, the careful way Ji-Hyun's parents watched him, the softness that filled the room.
Ji-Hyun's mother folded her hands. "You're the one he talks about," she said to Marvello. "The girl who makes sure he gets home."
Marvello didn't deny it. "I promised him."
Ji-Hyun shifted. "Mom—"
His mother smiled gently. "That day," she said, voice softening, "when we came back from the principal's office… Ji-Hyun fainted."
Marvello's eyes sharpened instantly.
''Yes?''
"He collapsed," his mother continued. "He was so weak. We had to take him to the hospital."
Marvello's fingers curled around her cup. "He didn't tell me."
Ji-Hyun looked down. His lashes trembled. "I didn't want to bother you… with it."
Amanda straightened, brightness dimming into focus. "Hospital?" she asked. "Was it serious?"
His father nodded. "Stress. Fear. He'd been holding too much inside."
Amanda's jaw tightened—not anger, but resolve.
Marvello was quiet for a moment.
Then she smiled.
Small. Real.
"I'm glad," she said, voice low, "that he has parents who notice when he's hurting."
Ji-Hyun's mother's eyes shone. "We try," she said. "But school… children can be cruel."
Amanda let out a soft laugh—not mocking, not light. "You're not wrong."
Marvello spoke calmly. "They tease him. Push him. Make him feel like he doesn't belong."
Ji-Hyun flinched, but Marvello continued.
"We protect him, I chose too, he is very nice, so I stayed beside him always" she said, steady, "because we know what it's like to think you're alone."
Amanda nodded, smile returning—gentler now. "We don't want him believing the world is only full of people who hurt."
Ji-Hyun's throat tightened. He blinked hard, glasses slipping again.
His mother reached for his hand. "You're never alone," she whispered.
"I take him home," Marvello said, calm and unwavering, "because he's My friend now, I see him as someone special now...."
Ji-Hyun's head snapped up. "Marvello— you... you don't have to.."
He looked away his face heating up.
She glanced at him. "I mean it."
Amanda smiled, softer this time. "You're ours, not like you're some object or anything." she added.
''But we will treat you kindly, since you're nice and cute Whether you like it or not."
Ji-Hyun's eyes burned.
He blinked hard, lashes fluttering, glasses slipping as he nodded.
''Thank you so much Amanda and Marvello....I-I am really ha-happy''
Ji-Hyun's mother smiled gently and nodded ''I'm glad.''
She hesitated, then looked at Marvello. "The boy who hurt him… Naoki. Is he—?"
Marvello answered evenly. "He broke his leg. He'll be fine."
Amanda added lightly, "Gravity did most of the work."
Ji-Hyun's parents exchanged a look—shock, then relief.
Ji-Hyun's father stood and bowed deeply to Marvello and Amanda. "Thank you," he said. "For not looking away."
Marvello stood and bowed back, just as deeply.
Amanda followed—slightly clumsier, but sincere. "He's important," she said. "We won't let anyone forget that."
Ji-Hyun sat there, surrounded by warmth, by people who chose him.
And for the first time in a long while, he believed them.
"B-But Marvello…'' Ji-Hyun began.
''Naoki will try to hurt you again. He doesn't give up," Ji-Hyun's voice trembled, eyes filled with concern.
"Let him," Marvello replied quietly, her expression calm and unwavering.
Amanda moved closer, her smile gentle but with a hint of mischief.
"This Naoki... he sounds mean," she said softly, glancing at Marvello.
"You were sitting here listening to what we were saying, weren't you?"
Marvello looked at her, her eyes steady.
"Oh, come on, Marvello. I'm a new student, remember?" Amanda added with a light laugh, her tone teasing as she glanced at Ji0Hyun.
Ji-Hyun looked away, unsure but trying to hide her worry.
The moment was small, but it felt real—like a fragile connection amid the chaos.