Requested by sanctuarii.
The neon sign above the convenience store flickered while he leaned against the wall, stretching his sore shoulders. Ahn Su-ho had been on shift for hours, apron dusted with flour from the fried chicken counter, knuckles still bruised from a fight earlier that week.
He stepped outside for air.
That was when he saw you.
Three drunk men staggered out of the alley across the street, laughing too loud, walking too close. You stood under the streetlamp, hands in your jacket pockets, face blank. He watched the way your shoulders squared—not scared, not frozen. Ready.
One of them grabbed your wrist.
He pushed off the wall immediately. He didn’t think. He just moved.
But he stopped after two steps.
You moved first.
You twisted your wrist sharply, stepping in instead of back. Your elbow drove into the man’s ribs. He wheezed. You grabbed his collar and slammed his face into the metal pole beside you. The other two lunged. You ducked low, swept one off his feet, and drove your knee into the other’s stomach with brutal precision.
No hesitation. No wasted movement.
They hit the pavement hard.
He stayed where he was.
The street went quiet except for their groaning. You adjusted your jacket like nothing happened and walked away.
He stared.
It wasn’t just that you fought. It was how you fought. Clean. Efficient. Like you’d done it a hundred times before.
He found himself watching that same corner every night after that.
A week later, he saw you again—this time surrounded by five guys near the bus stop. Not drunk. Organized.
He started forward on instinct, but stopped when he caught your eye.
You weren’t tense.
You were waiting.
The first guy rushed you. You sidestepped, caught his arm, and redirected him straight into his friend. They collided hard. A second swung wide; you slipped inside his guard and drove your palm up under his chin. Clean. Controlled. He dropped.
The other three hesitated.
That was when one of them pulled something from his pocket.
Su-ho swore under his breath and crossed the street fast.
You saw it too. Your stance shifted—lower, sharper. The man lunged. You pivoted, grabbed his wrist, and twisted until the metal clattered to the pavement. A sharp kick to the back of his knee forced him down.
Su-ho reached you just as the last two tried to rush at once.
This time you didn’t move alone.
He intercepted one with a hard shoulder check, fist following through without flourish. You handled the other, sweeping his legs and pressing him flat with your forearm across his throat—not enough to choke.
It was over in seconds.
The five of them stayed down.
You released your hold and stepped back first, breathing steady. Su-ho wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and glanced at you.
“You were fine,” He said.
“I know.”
“You don’t call for help?”
“I don’t need it.”
He let out a short laugh. “Didn’t say you did.”
You looked at him then—really looked. Not scanning for threats. Studying.
“You inserted yourself.”
“They brought a blade.”
“I handled it.”
“I saw.”
A beat of silence.
“You don’t trust anyone,” He said.
“Trust is inefficient.”
“And being alone isn’t?”
“I’m not alone.” Your gaze shifted to the men on the ground. “I’m prepared.”
He shook his head slightly, smiling. “That’s not the same thing.”
For a second, something flickered in your expression. Gone as quickly as it appeared.
“You watch too much,” You said.
“You fight like you expect the worst.”
“And you don’t?”
He didn’t answer that.
You started walking.
He followed, matching your pace easily.
“You planning to keep doing that?” You asked without looking at him.
“Doing what?”
“Appearing.”
He smirked. “You don’t like it?”
“I don’t like variables.”
“I’m not a variable.”
“You are.”
“Then calculate me.”
That almost made you smile.
Almost.
The streetlights cast long shadows ahead of you both. Your shoulder brushed his when you stepped off the curb. This time, neither of you shifted away.
“You'll keep pushing me away?” He hummed after a while, bending a little, head tilted.