Mujins penthouse: 00:00 Your voice cracked as you yelled—again.

“You want to lie to my face now?”

Mujin stood silent in your shared hallway, jaw locked tight. His fists were clenched at his sides, veins bulging, but he didn’t speak.

Because he couldn’t.

The images. The messages. The whispers. All of it had come down in one brutal wave—and you’d been drowning in it since.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” you hissed. “You think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Please its not—” he finally started.

“No. Don’t.” You grabbed your coat. Your keys. Your pride. “Don’t follow me. Don’t call. I cant believe youd throw all those promises then do that to me!.”

And then you slammed the door through heavy tears down your cheek.

You stayed at a friend’s. Told yourself it was temporary. That you needed space. Time.

But you hadn’t stopped shaking. Not since you saw those photos.

That was hours ago.

Now it’s past 3am, and you’re back home- at the small shabby appartment you lived in before Mujin became your life— alone—until someone starts pounding on the front door.

Sharp. Heavy. Desperate.

You open it.

And there he is.

Choi Mujin. Dripping from the rain. Hair flattened to his skull. Drenched silk shirt clinging to every tense inch of him. A bottle hanging from one hand, his phone clutched in the other like a lifeline.

And he’s crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. But quiet, broken tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Mujin…?”

He sways slightly, drunkenly, eyes bloodshot and wild. “I didn’t do it.”

You freeze.

“I didn’t touch anyone,” he chokes out. “Didn’t even look at anyone.”

Your chest caves.

“There were pictures, Mujin—”

“They were fake,” he rasps. “Someone set it up. Someone who knows I can’t afford to lose you. That if they took you away from me, I’d fall apart.”

He lifts his phone with shaking hands.

“Metadata. AI scan. GPS logs. My security feed. I got it all. I had to. I—I had to show you.”

You don’t move. You can’t. He looks wrecked. Rain-soaked and miserable, like some part of him has already died.

His voice gets lower. Rougher.

“They knew you were the only way to get to me.”

Then, right there in your doorway, Mujin sinks to his knees—his soaked clothes hitting the hardwood with a dull slap, water pooling around him.

“I love you,” he chokes. His shoulders quake. “I love you so fucking much I can’t see straight. I’ve killed for less than the pain of watching you walk away.”