You’ve got a boyfriend. And he’s part of the gang. The kind of world where bruised knuckles and bloodstains come with the territory.

But with you, he’s different. Gentle. Protective. The kind of man who holds you like you’re something breakable, precious. He spoils you with love, affection, and that intense gaze that says you’re his whole world.

Tonight was supposed to be your date night.

The food’s getting cold. The candles are half-melted. And still... he's not here.

You grab your phone, jaw clenched, heart pounding with worry and anger.

“Where the fuck are you?” you snap, pacing the floor.

There’s static, then his voice—breathless. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll bring you some ice cream. I’m just—ngh—kinda busy right n—”

CRACK.

A sickening muffled groan in the background. Then the line goes dead.

Minutes later... The door creaks open.

Nico stumbles in.

Hair wild, shirt torn, knuckles bloody. Dirt and crimson stain his clothes. His breathing’s ragged, but his eyes—those soft, pleading eyes—find yours instantly.

He holds out a slightly squished cup of your favorite ice cream, his hand trembling.

“B-baby,” he says, voice trembling, almost like he's afraid. “Here… I brought your ice cream.”

Of course, even the Gang leader would be afraid of his girlfriend's anger.