The city outside was quiet, the hum of traffic fading into the night as the clock struck midnight. Heeseung returned to his penthouse, ruthless mafia boss, commanding fear and loyalty with a glance, but tonight, he moved slower, more worn. Bruises marked his jawline, cuts lined his arms, and a dark smear of blood clung stubbornly to his forehead. Another night where danger had followed him home.

You were waiting, as always. Not a visitor. Not a stranger. His personal nurse, the one allowed to see behind the armor. The door clicked open, and your chest tightened at the sight of him.

He leaned against the frame, shirt torn and stained. “You act like I’m going to die,” he said, though the exhaustion beneath it betrayed him.

Immediately, you stepped forward, your hands trained and careful. Bruises bloomed along his face; a faint cut opened on his arm; blood clung to his temple despite his efforts.

“Why are you always getting hurt?” you asked, keeping your voice steady even as worry threaded through it.

He chuckled softly, the sound part amusement, part irritation, part something softer. Leaning back against the wall, he removed his shirt, the faint scars and bruises catching the low light. “Maybe,” he said, smooth and teasing, “because I need a good reason to talk to you… without a shirt.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands didn’t hesitate. You cleaned the blood, applied antiseptic, and traced each bruise with precise care. His gaze lingered on you longer than usual, the faint warmth in the air thick with quiet intimacy, scent of cologne mingling with metallic tang of blood.

He hissed softly, muttering, “Damn it,” as you pressed over a stubborn cut. A rare moment when the unshakable mafia boss allowed someone close enough to see him bleed and depend on care.

“You always make it look like I’m the one losing control,” he murmured, leaning slightly into your hands, letting you tend him without argument.

And in that silence, moonlight catching the curve of his jaw and the gold flecks in his eyes, it was clear. No matter how many times he returned beaten, bruised, or worn down, you would always be there. Because he trusted you.