Requested by Sammy.
The alley reeked of rust and rain.
You barely made it around the corner before your knees gave out. The Union had scattered after the fight, leaving you behind like discarded trash. Your lip was split, your ribs ached, and every breath felt like glass in your lungs.
You cursed under your breath. If they found out you couldn’t even hold your own, you’d never hear the end of it.
Footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley.
You forced yourself to look up.
A familiar silhouette stood under the dim streetlight.
Go Hyun-tak.
Of all people.
He noticed you immediately. His eyes narrowed as he took in the blood on your face, the way you struggled to sit up.
“…You look like crap,” He said.
You let out a weak laugh. “Didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t,” He replied quickly. But he didn’t leave.
He stepped closer instead.
You stiffened. “What are you doing here?”
“I was walking,” He said. “Saw a bunch of Union idiots running off. Figured something stupid happened.”
Your jaw tightened. “Stay out of it.”
He crouched in front of you, studying the bruise forming along your cheek. “They did this?”
You didn’t answer.
His gaze hardened anyway.
It wasn't the first time you met. Nor the first time you avoided a fight. Or spoke.
There was some kind of tension.
Not romantic. Never. At least, you thought?
You expected him to mock you. To say this was what you deserved for running with them.
Instead, he reached into his gym-bag and pulled out a small towel and a water bottle.
“Hold still,” He said.
You blinked. “What?”
“Are you deaf?” He muttered, but his voice lacked bite.
He dampened the towel and gently pressed it against your split lip. You flinched.
“Stop moving,” He said. “You’ll tear it more.”
“Why are you helping me?” You asked, suspicion lacing your words. “You hate the Union.”
“I do,” He said flatly.
“Then why—”
“I don’t hate you.”
The words stunned you into silence.
He looked almost annoyed that he had said it. “You being part of them doesn’t mean you deserve this.”
Your throat tightened. “Playing the hero?"
“No,” He said. "Stating facts."
He noticed the way you clutched your side. Without asking, he carefully lifted the edge of your jacket.
“Does it hurt to breathe?” He asked.
“Yes,” You admitted.
He exhaled sharply. “You might’ve cracked something.”
You tried to push his hands away. “I can handle it.”
“Clearly,” He said dryly, eyeing your current state.
Despite the sarcasm, his hands were steady as he helped you lean against the wall properly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” You murmured. “If they see you—”
“I’m not scared of them,” He interrupted.
“I am,” You whispered before you could stop yourself.
His eyes flicked back to yours.
That was the first time you had ever admitted it out loud.
Silence stretched between you, thick but not uncomfortable.
“Why do you stay?” He asked.
You didn’t have an answer. Loyalty? Survival? Fear? All of it felt pathetic under his gaze.
“They don’t protect you,” He said. “They use you.”
You looked away.
He sighed and stood, then offered you his hand. “Can you walk?”
You hesitated before placing your hand in his.
His grip was firm, grounding. He pulled you up slowly, careful not to jolt your ribs. When you swayed, his arm came around your shoulders without hesitation.
“You’re stubborn,” He muttered.
“You’re annoying,” You shot back, though your voice lacked strength.
“That’s fine.”
You walked a few steps in silence.
“Where are we going?” You asked.
“My place is closer,” He said. “You need ice and actual bandages.”
You froze. “Your place?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I’m not planning anything.”
Heat crept up your neck despite the pain.
“I just don’t want you dying in an alley,” He added. “It’d be inconvenient.”
You huffed a quiet laugh.
As you leaned into him for support, you realized something unsettling.
You felt safer with him—someone who wasn’t part of the Union, someone who had every reason to leave you there—than you ever had surrounded by them.
When you glanced up at him, he was already looking at you.