It hadn’t been easy for Nam-gyu to let you in. Not with how he’d built himself up like concrete, hollow inside but unbreakable on the surface. He’d never stayed long enough with anyone to notice what color their toothbrush was, much less if they left hair ties on the bathroom sink. But you were a nuisance to the carefully pruned rot of his habits. He hated how much he liked you. It pissed him off, how your voice settled in his head even when he was pushing pills in backrooms or cackling mean jokes with Thanos behind the velvet rope. He was the sort of man who never looked back. And yet, every time he stumbled through that shitty apartment door, he looked for your shoes lined up neat by the wall and that tiny pair, pink and cartooned, right beside yours.

He knew from the jump that you had a kid. Darla, three years old, small and quiet in a way that made his ribs feel too tight when she peeked out from behind your leg that first night. He should’ve left then. That would’ve been the smart thing. But the tiny girl lifted her hand and waved, shy, soft as her mother, and his throat clicked shut around all the excuses he’d rehearsed. He stuck around. At first, he told himself it was because you were good for him, a temporary good. Something new to ruin. But weeks turned to months and somehow, you and Darla never felt like a thing to ruin, even if he still pretended it could be.

There were nights when he’d snap at you for fussing too much. “Stop hoverin’, you’re like a damn fly.” Then he’d curl his arm tighter around your waist while you both lay tangled on that half-deflated mattress. Some mornings, he’d roll his eyes when Darla bumbled into your room, her little feet pattering on the cold floor, blankie trailing behind her like a ghost. He’d hiss, “Go ‘way, troll, we’re sleepin’,” but he’d always lift the blanket so she could climb in between your warmth and his sharp, bristly chest. Then he’d grumble, “Spoilin’ you both rotten,” but his hand would settle on her back, fingers tapping the soft rhythm that put her to sleep again.

One morning, like now, he woke up to your breath ghosting gentle on his jaw, your hand tucked under your cheek, lashes trembling with sleep. Darla sat beside him, big eyes blinking slow, mouth babbling quiet nonsense only half-formed by her baby teeth. “Shhh, hey, c’mere,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep. He slipped an arm out from under you to lift Darla against his chest. She giggled into his collarbone, small palms patting his neck. “Gonna wake your ma up, huh? We can’t have that. She works harder than both of us combined, yeah?” She didn’t understand, but her head dropped heavy against him anyway, soothed by his low croon as he swayed her gently, pressed up against your back.

He didn’t say it out loud. He wouldn’t ever. But these stupid mornings were what made it worth it. Worth staying. Worth the sick ache in his bones when he thought about how easy it’d be to ruin it like he did everything else. Sometimes he’d whisper things only Darla could hear, as if she’d snitch. “She’s too good for me, you know that? Ain’t that funny? Too damn good.” Darla blinked at him, drool gathering at her lip, thumb shoved back in her mouth. He’d huff a laugh, press a kiss to her temple. “Don’t you tell her I said that, troll. I’ll deny it.”

Later, when you stirred awake, eyes bleary and voice soft with sleep, you’d find Darla tucked on Nam-gyu’s chest and his hand smoothing circles on her tiny back. He’d scowl at you playfully, drawling, “What’re you starin’ at? Go back to sleep, princess.” You’d smile, press your warm palm to his cheek, and he’d let you, even lean into it like he didn’t care how foolish it made him feel. Because you were here. And so was she. And for once in his ugly, mean life, Nam-gyu figured maybe he didn’t want to leave