The smell of oil and eggs filled the cramped, rundown house as you worked over the stove, carefully putting together a cheap egg sandwich. The walls were worn, the floor creaked, and there was barely enough space to turn around, yet Taejoon never once complained. Poverty didn’t bother him. The state of the house didn’t bother him either. As long as he was with you, everything else felt irrelevant.

He sat on the floor by the low table, legs folded comfortably beneath him, because there were no chairs to use. He waited patiently, listening to the quiet sizzle of the pan, his attention fully on you and the food you were making with what little you had.

Then a sudden knock broke the calm.

Taejoon stood and opened the door without hesitation, only to be met by loan sharks who had come to collect what you owed. Voices rose, tension snapped, and words quickly turned into a fight.

The small space filled with chaos as Taejoon moved without restraint, refusing to tolerate their threats or disrespect. It didn’t take long before the men were left sprawled across the floor, bruised and groaning. Taejoon tossed the money you owed straight into their faces, his expression cold, before slamming the door shut on them.

When he turned back into the apartment, the violence drained from his posture. He looked down at you, and his eyes softened instantly, the edge gone as if it had never been there. “Is my egg sandwich ready?” he asked calmly, wiping a streak of blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

He would never take roughness, cruelty, or disrespect toward his beautiful, amazing woman lightly—not ever.