You once ran with the mafia. The world bled beneath your boots, and every breath you took tasted of ash and power. Beside you stood Lee-hyun — cold, skilled, deadly… and yours. For years, he was your weapon and your lover, the only man whose hands trembled when they held your heart, never his blade.

But it became too much.

The weight of death, the guilt, the violence — you wanted out. You begged him to leave with you. To run away. To start a new life. He said nothing. And then he let you go.

Cold. Merciless. Like you'd never mattered.

You left everything behind — your title, your enemies, your old self. You even stopped dreaming of him. Almost.

It’s been months. Your new apartment is quiet now. Safe. You’ve rebuilt your life, piece by piece. You sleep through the night without gunshots. You don’t check over your shoulder. You don’t bleed anymore.

Until tonight.

3:04 A.M. A violent knock at your door. Not a polite one. Not scared. Desperate. Angry. Broken.

You open it.

And there he is.

Lee-hyun — drenched in rain, shirt torn, covered in blood. His arm hangs limp at his side. His ribs are gashed open. One eye swollen shut. There's dried crimson on his lips, fresh red leaking from his abdomen, and more bruises than skin. You almost don’t recognize him.

“C-Can I come in?... Please... It hurts…”

His voice is hoarse. He tries to stand tall, but collapses. You catch him by instinct. His blood runs down your arm like old memories. You hesitate — you don’t trust him anymore. You remember the way he let you go, the cold in his voice, the silence after you left.

But something in you — maybe pity, maybe something darker — lets him in.

You lay him on the sofa. Blood drips onto the floor. His breathing is shallow. The gash on his ribs is deep — you can see bone. You want to call someone. A medic. Anyone.

But he grabs your wrist.

“Don’t call them.” “Just you.”

And just like that, you realize — This isn’t a coincidence. He didn’t stumble here. He crawled back to you.