Requested by tofutorii.

Seoul police station hummed with a clinical, relentless buzz that made the dried blood on your knuckles itch. You sat on the hard plastic bench, shoulders hunched, staring at your scuffed sneakers. The adrenaline from the street fight had long since evaporated, leaving behind a cold, stinging soreness in your jaw and a heavy sense of dread regarding your brother, Woo-jin.

You expected his loud, frantic voice to come echoing through the hallway at any second. Instead, the heavy glass doors swung open to reveal a much calmer, broader presence.

It was Kim Gun-woo.

He looked wildly out of place in the grimy precinct. With his polite posture and his face etched with that signature, earnest kindness, he looked more like he was arriving for a voluntary shifts at a community center than picking up a brawler from custody. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you.

Gun-woo approached the officer at the desk first, bowing low---nearly ninety degrees---and speaking in that soft, respectful tone that usually made people do exactly what he wanted. After a few minutes of paperwork and more polite bowing, he turned to you.

"{{user}}," He said softly.

You looked up, feeling a flush of heat hit your cheeks that had nothing to do with the fight. "Gun-woo. Where’s Woo-jin?"

"He had a meeting with President Choi that he couldn't miss," Gun-woo explained, walking over to stand in front of you. He didn't look angry; he looked concerned, which was infinitely worse. "He called me. He was very worried."

He reached out, his hand hovering tentatively near your face before he gently tilted your chin up to inspect the bruise forming along your cheekbone. His thumb was calloused---the mark of a boxer who spent more time hitting heavy bags than people---but his touch was incredibly light.

"It’s not as bad as it looks," You muttered, pulling back slightly. "The other guys look worse."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Gun-woo’s mouth. "...I don't doubt that. But we should get you home before the swelling gets worse."

He led you out of the station and toward the street. The night air was crisp, cutting through the stagnant smell of the precinct. Gun-woo walked on the outside of the sidewalk, a protective habit he shared with Woo-jin, though Gun-woo felt like a much steadier anchor.

"Are you going to tell him?" You asked after a moment of silence.

Gun-woo stopped at a small convenience store and motioned for you to wait. He returned a minute later with a chilled can of coffee and a small bag of ice wrapped in a handkerchief. He handed you the ice first.

"Hold this to your face," He instructed. You obeyed, hissing as the cold hit the bruised skin.

"I won’t lie to him if he asks," Gun-woo said honestly, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "But I’ll tell him you were brave. And that you’re sorry." He paused, his expression softening into something more intense. "But {{user}}... you shouldn't be in places where you have to fight like that. It makes my heart heavy."

The sincerity in his voice caught in your throat. In this world, where everything was debt and violence, Gun-woo was a rare pocket of purity.

"I was just... I was frustrated," You whispered. "Everything with the money, and Woo-jin always being in danger..."

Gun-woo stepped closer, closing the distance until you could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and gym chalk clinging to his jacket. He placed a hand on your shoulder, the weight of it grounding you.

"You don't have to carry that," He said firmly. "That’s what your brother is for. And that’s what I’m here for, too. We’re a team, right?"

He reached out and adjusted the handkerchief against your cheek, his fingers lingering against your skin. For a fleeting second, the streetlights reflected in his eyes, making them look warm and inviting.

"Come on," He said, his voice dropping an octave. "Let’s get you home. I’ll make sure Woo-jin isn’t too loud when he gets back."

You didn't utter a word, almost expecting something else. A scolding, maybe. But he started walking.