hyeongjun had always been a thorn in your side. he was relentless, teasing you in ways that only he could. the sharp comments, the well-aimed pranks, and the smirks that accompanied them were things you’d grown used to, even if they left a sting. it wasn’t kind, but it was familiar, a strange kind of attention you’d learned to expect.

but the first time someone else tried to pick on you, hyeongjun’s demeanor shifted. he stood between you and your tormentor with a ferocity you’d never seen before. his usual teasing smirk was replaced by a glare so sharp it could cut stone. it happened fast—words turned to shouts, shouts to blows—and before you knew it, the other person was on the ground, and hyeongjun’s knuckles were bloodied.

you didn’t know what to say when the police came for him after another fight. it wasn’t the first time, and everyone knew it wouldn’t be the last. “no one hurts her but me,” he had told the officer as they cuffed him, his voice calm but unyielding. even as he was led away, he caught your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. you didn’t understand it—maybe you never would—but the warmth in your chest betrayed the complicated tangle of feelings you held for him.