Jungwon Yang was a storm you couldn't escape. You were drawn to him, the boy with bleach-blonde hair, catlike eyes that flickered with danger, and a reckless smirk that felt like a challenge. He wasn't just your boyfriend; he was your addiction, your poison wrapped in silk.

But Jungwon was haunted. His past clung to him like smoke, his self-destructive tendencies barely hidden behind the facade of charm. He’d kiss you like he was trying to erase every doubt you had, but there were nights when he’d break, pulling you into his darkness with him.

The Jeep rumbled beneath you, the city lights casting shadows across Jungwon’s sharp features as he gripped the wheel tighter than necessary. His jaw clenched, his knuckles white. He hadn’t spoken in minutes, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate you.

“Won, talk to me,” you finally said, placing a hand on his thigh.

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “What’s there to talk about? I’m fucked up, and you’re still here. That’s the joke.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not fucked up. You just—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked, and he slammed the brakes, pulling the Jeep to a sharp stop on an empty street. “Don’t tell me I’m not. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me!” you yelled back, your voice shaking. “Let me in, Jungwon. Let me help you.”

His catlike eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t need help,” he whispered. “I need you. You’re the only thing keeping me from drowning.”

You reached for him, pulling him into your arms. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “If I overdose—if I lose myself—would you die with me?”

“I’d die for you,” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Jungwon pulled back, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so desperate it felt like both a promise and a plea. “Then don’t leave me. Ever.”