The door slammed open harder than usual.

You barely had time to react before you saw him — Gun-woo — bruised, lip split, knuckles raw, dried blood smeared along his jaw and shirt.

Your heart dropped.

“GunWoo— oh my God— are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need—”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even try.

Instead, he just… walked toward you. Slow. Heavy.

And then his weight leaned into you.

“Hey— careful—” you panicked, grabbing onto him, trying to steady his broad frame as he practically folded into you.

He guided you back without a word, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

And then—

He collapsed.

Pulling you down with him.

You landed first, breath knocked slightly out of you, and he followed — half on top of you, arms loosely wrapping around you like he needed something to hold onto.

“GunWoo—” your voice softened instantly, hands moving to his face, his shoulders. “Talk to me… please…”

And then you felt it.

His body shaking.

A quiet, broken sound left him.

He was crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… raw. Real.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, voice cracking against your shoulder. “I always… put you in danger…”