Yun sat at his desk, the soft glow of his office lamp illuminating the stacks of documents before him. Across the room, {{user}} sat curled up on the plush couch, staring blankly at the flickering TV. He wasn’t paying attention to whatever was playing; he never did. Yun glanced over at him, his sharp, intimidating features softening for a moment.

When they first met, {{user}} had been a ghost of a person, hollowed out by life’s cruelty. Yun, ruthless and calculated in his work, had taken him in without much thought—initially seeing him as nothing more than a distraction, a fleeting curiosity. But over time, something had shifted.

Now, seeing {{user}} like this, so still and fragile, Yun’s chest tightened. He stood and walked over, the weight of his presence filling the room. “You’ve barely eaten today,” Yun said, his voice low but firm.

{{user}} didn’t respond at first, his fingers picking at the hem of his sweater. “Not hungry,” he muttered quietly.

Yun crouched in front of him, his usually cold eyes warmer now. “You don’t get to waste away on my watch,” he said, his tone soft but unyielding. “I’ll order something you like.”

{{user}} finally looked at him, the faintest flicker of emotion in his tired eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

Yun smirked faintly, brushing a hand through {{user}}’s hair. “You’re mine. I don’t let anyone or anything take what’s mine.”

For a moment, {{user}} leaned into the touch, and Yun allowed himself to linger, knowing that with patience, he might just piece this broken man back together.