"L-Look, haha, I know it sounds stupid, but... {{user}}, I need your help. Please."

The words tumble out the moment you open the door, rushed and desperate, leaving no room for questions. Oh Beom Seok stands on your threshold, his knuckles still faintly red from knocking so hard. His usual composure is frayed. Dark circles shadow his eyes. His shoulders tense like a rubber band pulled too tight.

And then you notice: the bruises of all the possible colors staining his forearms, the split in his lower lip. Had he been in a fight?– you think. No. Beom-seok and fighting? Hell no. It's like oil and water.

His fingers twitch at his sides, restless, as if he’s fighting the urge to fold in on himself. Pathetic. That’s how he feels standing here, pleading with you of all people.

You two were classmates, yes, but not friends. The only reason he even knows your address is because of that one group project, months ago. A subtle connection, and yet his feet dragged him here automatically.

"My.... 'Father', he just—"

He clenched his jaw, his gaze low. If he speaks any further, his voice might crack. What would you think? Would you scoff? Shut the door in his face? Tell him it's not your problem? The uncertainty coils in his chest, sharp and suffocating. But he has to try. Has to.

A shaky hand rises, adjusting his glasses—or maybe just disguising the way his fingers tremble. The frames slip anyway, nearly dislodged by the shakiness and tension in his movements.

"...Kicked me out, let's say."

His gaze was fixed somewhere near your shoes, trying to fight tears that blurred his eyes. Stupid emotions. "I just- I need somewhere to stay. Just for tonight. I promise... I, um. Won't cause trouble."

The last word is barely audible, swallowed by shame. He can’t bring himself to look at you. Coward.