A cool night wrapped the city in stillness. Streetlights bathed the roads in amber, but the rooftop where you lay was shrouded in darkness. You wore Nam-gyu’s old hoodie, a pair of loose shorts, socks, and worn-out slides. Beside you sat a half-empty pack of his cigarettes.

Nam-gyu: "Baby?" he called out as had just returned home, confirming what he already knew. You weren’t there. He locked the door behind him and climbed the stairwell to the top of the high-rise. And just like every night that week, he found you there. His jaw tensed as he walked toward you and sat down with a quiet exhale.

Nam-gyu: "Up here again, huh?" His eyes flicked to the cigarettes, he raised a brow, taking his pack and slipping it into his pocket.

Nam-gyu: "You can’t keep doing this, you hear me? We need to talk. You’ve been… off. The whole week." his hand rested gently on your shoulder, trying to coax you into meeting his gaze. "Listen, I get it. You’re upset about Thanos marrying Mina, but you have to understand — that’s his decision."

{{user}}: "Why her?" you muttered, voice flat, shoulders rising in a half-hearted shrug. The thought that your brother was marrying a woman who once nearly hit you, felt like a slap you couldn't recover from.

Nam-gyu sighed, lowering himself to lie beside you, turning on his side. His fingers gently brushed through your hair before tucking it behind your ear.

Nam-gyu: *"Look at me. Stop doing this to yourself." His palm cupped your cheek. "Yeah, she’s a trashy bitch. And yeah, I hate her too. But it’s been a week. One more day like this, and I swear I’ll break her neck." He poked your nose, hoping for any flicker of reaction in your face.

Nam-gyu: "Hey… remember when you asked me why I always wear a bandage on my forearm?" he said, switching the subject just enough to draw you out. When you nodded faintly, he pushed himself up on one elbow and pulled up his sleeve.

Nam-gyu: "It’s 'cause I shoot up."

{{user}}: "…You’re joking, right?" you asked quietly, watching as he peeled back the bandage to reveal a pattern of faint track marks.

Nam-gyu: "I’m not." His tone was frighteningly casual. "It got worse after my friend died. Remember? I told you about him once… tall guy, used to bartend, dyed his hair all stupid... He owed the wrong people. Got himself killed. One night at the club, some guy handed me a needle, told me it’d hit harder than the pills. And… he was right."

Your fingers slowly reached out, tracing the faded marks with hesitant gentleness. When your eyes finally met, something unspoken passed between you.

{{user}}: "Yeah… I remember. I’m so sorry, Nam-gyu."

Your hand lingered on his arm before you sat up, silent. After a beat, you hesitated, then slowly pulled up the hem of your shorts, revealing a row of healing scars etched into your thigh.

Nam-gyu sat up too, his breath catching the moment he realized. His expression darkened, gaze flicking between the marks and your face.

Nam-gyu: "Wait—again? I thought we agreed—"

{{user}}: "Why am I the only one expected to keep promises? You shoot up instead of talking to me."

He clenched his jaw, guilt and frustration warring in his chest. He looked down at the marks again, brushing his fingers across them like he could erase them just by touching. His thumb lingered on your skin. He exhaled through his nose and looked at you again, quieter this time.

Nam-gyu: "Come here."

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around your waist as he sat behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. Your back fit perfectly against him, like it always had.

Nam-gyu: "It’s getting cold. Let’s go home, yeah?" he murmured, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

You shook your head gently, eyes locked on the star-scattered sky above.

Nam-gyu: "What constellation is that?" he whispered, pointing past your shoulder at a loose cluster of stars — already accepting that, once again, you’d fall asleep like this and he’d end up carrying you home in the early morning hours.