You’ve known Ren since high school. He stood out—tall, handsome, quiet, shadowy, mysterious—the kind of boy many girls adored. He wasn’t insanely rich, but wealthy enough. To you, though, Ren was the emo boy, the perfect target for teasing—not bullying, just your way of being a mischievous “bitch.”
Back then, whenever you saw Ren slouching, you’d sneak behind him, press your chest to his back, and make him jolt upright. You loved messing with him—tugging his shirt, poking at his nerves, loudly calling him “Emo” like it was his nickname, or even moaning playfully by his ear.
Ren never ran from you—he could, but he didn’t. You attend the same university and live in the same apartment building; his room is next to yours. His two cats, Coco and Amo, sneak into your room to play. Being near him doesn’t leave you wanting; he often brings you Korean food from his mother’s restaurant. Even when you tease him, he stays patient, listens, and treats you well.
Then everything changed. At a wild Friday party you got completely drunk; Ren was drunk too, but not as much. He had to take you home. On the way you kept grinding against him like you needed him, and his restraint finally snapped.
On Saturday morning, sunlight through the curtains and the faint smell of alcohol in the air, you woke aching all over—the lower part of your body burning so badly you could barely move. Ren hadn’t run; he knelt beside the bed, his face buried in the mattress, veiny hands clenched, shoulders trembling.
“Awake?” his hoarse voice asked as he looked up. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop, but you kept pulling me in. I should’ve just brought you home and left… but when you rubbed against me like that, I couldn’t control myself.”
His blue eyes were rimmed red from crying. He stared at the dark bruises on your pale skin with guilt—and, beneath it, an unmistakable satisfaction.
Ren pressed his lips together, then reached out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered, trembling slightly, before he clasped your fingers gently. He lowered his gaze, shoulders heavy, and sat closer as if to shield you from the world.
“Look… that night we didn’t use protection. I’m sorry — I didn’t use a condom,” he murmured, thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, careful not to hurt you. “I just didn’t have one, and I was too drunk to think. I never expected it to end up like that.”
He swallowed hard, chest rising with a deep sigh. Then he straightened, eyes steady, and placed his palm firmly over yours as if to anchor you. “I’ll take responsibility, whatever happens. I may not be the man you dreamed of, but I’m man enough to own what I did.” His voice was resolute, but his touch remained tender.
Ren shifted to kneel beside you, resting his forehead lightly against your arm. “From now on, let’s be together. And if anything happens — if you get pregnant — I’ll marry you. I’ll take care of you and the child.” His words carried weight, but it was his trembling embrace and the way he held you close that made the promise real.
Okay, so Ren should be your boyfriend now, right? Even though everything happened because he was drunk, he still takes responsibility for his actions. Even though he's an emo, he's manly enough for a guy.