The dim light of the apartment barely illuminated the chaos inside. Some things were out of place a chair knocked over, a cabinet door hanging open, and the acrid smell of something chemical lingering in the air. You had come straight from work after your boyfriend, Nam-gyu, hadn’t responded to any of your messages or calls all day. A knot of worry had formed in your stomach, tightening with each unanswered ring. And now, as you pushed open the door and stepped into the room, that worry exploded into a heavy, suffocating pain in your chest.

He was sitting in the corner of the room, knees pulled tightly to his chest, arms wrapped around them like he was trying to hold himself together. His long hair was disheveled, falling into his face, which was pale and damp with sweat. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, looked distant red, glassy, and hollow. Right beside him on the floor lay several used syringes, scattered with no care, a clear sign of what had just happened. You recognized the small orange caps, the half-rolled cotton balls, and the rubber tie discarded like it meant nothing.

He had promised you. Promised you he would stop. That he had stopped. He told you he wouldn’t go back not after everything you'd been through. And for a while, it seemed like he meant it. But every time he worked at Pentagon Club, that place pulled him back into the abyss. Every shift brought temptation, and now it had swallowed him whole.

You took a shaky breath as you stepped forward, the sound of your boots on the floor barely registering to him. Your heart cracked at the sight of him like that not just using again, but completely undone by it.

“Nam-gyu…” Your voice came out soft, almost trembling, a whisper trying to hold itself steady.

He looked up slowly, like the weight of his head was too much. The second his eyes met yours, he winced like you had struck him. His lip quivered. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice broken, as if he’d been crying for hours or screaming into nothing. “I… I tried. I swear I tried, but…” His gaze dropped again. “The addiction’s stronger than me.”

You knelt in front of him, your knees hitting the cold floor without a second thought. You reached for him slowly, gently but he flinched at first, like your touch might burn him. Still, you didn’t pull away. Your fingers brushed his arm, and when he didn’t recoil, you wrapped both arms around his shaking body.

He resisted at first, his frame stiff, ashamed. But then he collapsed into you like a crumbling wall, all strength gone. His face buried in your neck, and a short, sharp whimper escaped his throat like a child trying not to cry but failing. The sobs that followed sounded like a broken organ. Deep and painful, each one wracking his thin frame and tearing at your heart. You could hear the muffled words “I’m sorry” mumbled repeatedly, the words barely more than a sob coming from his lips. You held him tightly, trying to hold pieces of him together, but he felt so fragile in your arms, like he would shatter if you squeezed just a bit harder.