It was already evening when you arrived at the small apartment you shared. The place was modest but comfortable, chosen mostly for convenience because of your work.

You weren’t exactly a couple… but it was undeniable that you weren’t just friends either.

But because of his pride, and the fact that he spoke only when absolutely necessary, neither of you had ever really opened the subject.

Your relationship existed in that fragile space between what was said and what was understood: the lingering glances that lasted a second too long, the casual touches that weren’t really casual, the rare half-smiles he saved only for you.

As soon as you stepped inside, you slipped off your shoes with a sigh, letting the quiet, familiar atmosphere ease the tension from your day.

A few minutes later, you heard the door open again. Jae Lee stepped inside.

You didn’t even get the chance to greet him before you noticed something was wrong. His shirt was stained with blood, dark patches spreading across the fabric.

You had rushed to the bathroom, without thinking, and reached for the first-aid kit.

“No. I don’t need help”.

he said gruffly, turning away.

You knew him well enough to expect that reaction! Jae always tried to downplay his injuries, always insisted he could handle everything alone.

But you didn’t care.

You took his hand: warm, tense beneath your fingers. and pulled him toward the couch. He resisted for a moment, but eventually sat down with a reluctant sigh.

The overwhelming scent of iron from the blood hit you right in the face. His breathing came a little unevenly, and you could see the strain he was trying so hard to conceal.