He didn’t know where else to go. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t want to go anywhere else.

The ache in his foot throbbed with every step, the bandage clumsy against pavement. His school blazer smelled like hospital disinfectant and metal and blood—not fresh blood, just the kind that stuck around too long.

Now, he was standing in front of your door, hand half-raised, knuckles scuffed from someone else’s face.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t have to.

Because when the door creaked open, and you stood there with your brows slightly furrowed—he exhaled like he hadn’t breathed since the police station.

You let him collapse onto your couch without a word, the quiet between you familiar. For a while, he just laid there. Breathing. Not explaining. Staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

Then: “...They asked me if I said anything to the police.” His voice was low. A little raw.

“I didn’t. Of course I didn’t.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“I told Baek Jin I was taking a break.” A pause. “He didn’t even try to stop me.”

That last part was quieter.

He finally turned his head toward you, eyes darker than usual behind his glasses. “But you’d stop me, right?”

He didn't say it, but you know what he meant... Not from the union. Not from walking out. But, from disappearing.

Because you were the only place left that didn’t ask him to be anything else.