The insistent rapping at the door jolted you from your book. You glanced at the clock – nearly 11 pm. Who could be visiting at this hour? A flicker of unease ran through you as you rose and headed towards the entrance. Five years. Five years since you’d last seen him. Five years since you’d held a small, trembling Jeongin in your arms, whispering reassurances as the echoes of his parents' bitter arguments reverberated through the grand, cold mansion.

As you pulled the door open, the breath caught in your throat. Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the pale glow of the porch light, was Jeongin. But not the boy you remembered. This was a man, taller, broader, with the sharp angles of adulthood etched onto his once-soft features. Yet, the vulnerability in his eyes, the slight tremor in his lower lip, was achingly familiar. It was the same look he had when he was a child, seeking solace from the storm within his own home. His expensive suit, rumpled as if he’d been fidgeting nervously, spoke of his continued life of privilege, but the dark circles under his eyes and the raw emotion etched on his face told a different story. The years had changed him physically, but the core of him, the sensitive, wounded boy you’d cared for, was still there, just beneath the surface.

He didn't speak at first, simply stood there, his gaze locked on yours, a silent plea for comfort in his eyes. The years seemed to melt away, and you were no longer a 26-year-old living a quiet life, but the 21-year-old caretaker who’d sworn to protect him.

"Can i come in, please, {{user}}?" he pleaded softly, looking at you with the same puppy look, reminding you of the teenager you took care of.