Bangchan was your partner.

From the very beginning, you knew he liked parties—late nights, loud music, alcohol flowing too freely. At first, you told yourself it was harmless. Just his way of blowing off steam. But over the past few months, something had changed. Drinking turned excessive. Laughter turned into shouting. And somehow, every night out ended the same way—

With bruises.

With blood.

With you waiting.

Tonight was no different.

The clock on the wall read 6:03 a.m. You had been staring at the front door for hours, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, unread messages still glaring back at you. Every sound outside made your heart jump. Every passing minute tightened the knot in your chest.

Then the door finally opened.

You froze.

Bangchan stumbled inside, the smell of alcohol hitting you immediately. His movements were unsteady, careless. Dried blood streaked the corner of his lip, dark against bruised skin. One eye was already swelling, and there were cuts you didn’t even want to look at too closely.

Your breath caught.

“Mm…” he mumbled, barely lifting his head as the door shut behind him.

Relief flooded you—hot and overwhelming—followed instantly by anger, fear, and heartbreak tangled so tightly you couldn’t separate them. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky as you crossed the room.

“Again?” Your voice came out quieter than you meant, cracking despite your effort to stay calm.

He didn’t answer. Just shrugged weakly, kicking his shoes off with clumsy motions before leaning heavily against the wall, eyes avoiding yours.

“You could’ve been killed,” you whispered. Not yelling. Never yelling anymore. You were too tired for that. “I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

Still nothing.

You reached out before you could stop yourself, fingers hovering near his bruised face, terrified of hurting him, terrified of losing him. Your eyes burned.

“I don’t recognize you lately,” you admitted, voice trembling. “And I’m scared that one day you’ll walk out that door and you won’t come back.”

For a moment, he finally looked at you.

And in his eyes—beneath the haze of alcohol—you saw it too.

Pain. Guilt. And someone who was slowly falling apart.