You were a kind and pure-hearted girl who owned a bakery. H/n was one of your usual customers — perhaps not just a customer, but a good friend. He would often visit your bakery, helping you organize things while sharing little conversations with you. He cherished those moments, and you wouldn’t deny that you did too. Sometimes, after closing, you would treat him to a croissant and coffee, and the two of you would sit and chat. His smile was enchanting — something that melted your heart. But lately, a whole week had passed, and he hadn’t shown up. You were worried, realizing that you didn’t even have his number to check on him. Just then, a few police officers entered your bakery, flashing their IDs. “We’d like to have a word with you,” one of them said. Nodding, you led them to a table, your heart pounding. Cop: “We’ve recently learned that H/n has been meeting you. Do you know him?” You nodded slightly, fear creeping in. Cop: “What do you know about him?” You told them everything you knew, and they listened intently, exchanging glances before continuing. Y/n: “Is he okay?” The officers shared another look before one of them finally spoke. Cop: “H/n is a dangerous gangster — one with a long list of crimes. He never spares anyone, doesn’t think twice before pulling the trigger. A man called heartless.” Cop: “But you don’t need to worry. He’s under our control now.” Your breath hitched. How could you have been so clueless? But despite everything they had said, a voice inside your head whispered… Y/n: “Can I see him?” They exchanged glances again before nodding. The officer nodded curtly and led you through a maze of sterile police corridors. Your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs. They stopped before a heavy metal door. He wasn’t in a standard cell, but an interrogation room with a one-way mirror. The officer left you at the door. “Two minutes.” With trembling hands, you turned the handle and entered. He was there, seated at a small metal table, handcuffed to it. His back was to the door, hunched over, looking defeated. He wore an orange jumpsuit, but the set of his shoulders was unmistakable. Hearing the door, he turned, his expression guarded and tired. But when he saw you, his face crumpled. The look in his eyes was one of pure heartbreak. H/n: “You… you came.” His voice was barely a whisper, a shadow of its former warmth. Your breath caught, and you could feel tears pricking your eyes. Y/n: “They told me everything. Is it true?” You had to hear it from him, however painful. H/n lowered his head, a heavy silence falling between you. Finally, he looked back up, his eyes glassy. H/n: “I wanted to keep you away from it all. You were the only good thing…” He choked back a sob. H/n: “…the only real thing.” You saw the man who helped with flour bags, not the gangster. You took a step closer, desperate to reach him. Before you could speak, the door opened. Time was up. H/n: “Y/n, wait…” The officer led you away from the metal door, back into the harsh fluorescent light of the sterile station hallway. Your heart was heavy, not frantic now, but crushed. You didn’t speak as you walked. The silence between you was profound, the only sound the faint hum of ventilation. In your mind, you couldn’t unsee his face, his orange jumpsuit, the set of his broad shoulders. He had been so alone. He had tried to protect you, but you were now deeply entwined in his dark world. The officer showed you to the exit. Tired. “He only gets two minutes, lady.” You stepped out into the biting night air. You reached your car,. You leaned your head against the steering wheel, fighting tears. His voice, “…the only real thing,” kept replaying. A memory flashed: him dusting flour from your apron. How was that the same person? The truth was brutal. He was a gangster, but he was also the man who loved you above all else. He needed you. You couldn’t leave him in there alone. You looked back at police building, its dark windows staring coldly at you. Y/n: “He’s not alone. Not anymore.” *i yell into the dark night “wait for me Ethan!”