Requested by tofutorii.

The fluorescent lights of the police station hummed with an irritating buzz that matched the throbbing in your knuckles. You sat on a plastic chair, leaning your head against the cool, plastered wall, ignoring the wary glances from the duty officer. A street fight wasn't exactly how you planned to spend your Tuesday night, but some guys didn't know when to keep their mouths shut about your brother.

"Name?" The officer asked again.

"I already told you," You muttered, wiping a smudge of dried blood from your cheek. "And I told you my guardian is coming."

You had called Si-eun, expecting a lecture and a swift exit. Instead, you got a frantic text ten minutes later: 'In the middle of a mock exam. Can’t leave. Sending Su-ho. Stay put.'

Great. Of all people, he sent the one person who made your heart beat faster than the actual adrenaline of a fight.

The heavy glass doors swung open, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift instantly. Ahn Su-ho walked in, still wearing his delivery jacket, his helmet tucked under one arm. He didn't look angry; he looked exhausted, his usual easy-going smirk replaced by a thin, tight line.

He didn't say a word to you at first. You watched him navigate the bureaucracy with a practiced ease that made your chest ache. He signed the paperwork, bowed respectfully to the officers, and settled whatever "damages" had been incurred. Finally, he turned to you.

"Let's go," He said, his voice lower than usual.

You followed him out into the humid night air. The silence was deafening. He reached his bike, unclipped his spare helmet, and without prompting, shoved it onto your head. He buckled the chin strap for you, his fingers brushing against your jaw. For a second, his eyes softened as they lingered on the bruise forming near your temple.

"Get on," He commanded.

You climbed onto the back of the bike, tentatively gripping the back of his jacket. He revved the engine and took off, the wind whipping past as he wove through the Seoul traffic. He didn't take you home. Instead, he pulled up to a quiet corner of a nearby park, the swings swaying gently in the midnight breeze.

He killed the engine and hopped off, gesturing for you to sit on a stone bench. He reached into his delivery bag and pulled out a small first-aid kit and a cold can of coffee.

"Si-eun is going to lose his mind when he sees your face," Su-ho said, popping the tab on the coffee and handing it to you. Not to drink—to hold against your eye.

"He shouldn't have sent you," You whispered, pressing the cold metal to your skin. "I could have waited."

"And let you sit in a cell feeling sorry for yourself?" Su-ho knelt in front of you, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. "Hold still."

You winced as he dabbed at the cut on your cheek. "They were talking shit about him, Su-ho. Saying he was a freak, that he thinks he’s better than everyone because of his grades."

Su-ho paused, his hand hovering near your face. He let out a long, slow breath. "And you thought the best way to defend the smartest kid in school was to use your fists?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"You're at a police station, {{user}}. That’s not 'working,'" He countered, though a small, ghost of a smile finally touched his lips. He finished bandaging the cut and sat down on the ground at your feet, leaning his back against the bench. "You fight because you're stubborn."

Su-ho reached up, gently taking your hand—the one with the bruised knuckles—and turning it over in his palm. He traced the lines of your hand with his thumb, his touch grounding and unexpectedly warm.

"Next time," He said, his voice dropping to a soft, serious register, "call me before you throw the first punch. Not after."

"So you can stop me?"

He looked up at you, his dark eyes shimmering under the park lights. "No. So I can make sure I'm standing behind you."

He squeezed your hand once before letting go and standing up, offering his hand to help you up. "Come on. If we don't get you home soon, Si-eun will start calculating the probability of us being kidnapped."