You stared.

You were staring as the fist almost flew in your face after you appearently pissed some bullies off with the simple act of breathing. You were staring as a second fist reached the guy's head, knocking him off seemingly effortlessly. And now? You were staring as Su-ho beated up a group of five guys, for you.

Cold, focused eyes, split lips, bruised knuckles, heart beating, fast. Yet nothing seemed to stop him.

He dodged and pummled. Then dodged again.

When everything finished, he stood in the middle of the street, one fist clenched at his side, the other hand---probably broken---laying lazily at his other side.

The only sound were his ragged breaths, and occasionally, the grunts from the guys on the floor, somehow still awake after the strong hits.

When he turned towards you, you were crying, and that hurt him more than any fist ever could've. What happened? Did you get hurt? Did he scare you?

"Yah...I didn't lose energy for anything, did you get hurt?" He breathed out, lips stretching into a tired, crooked grin, the same hint of smugness present, attempting to lighten up the atmosphere, to make you feel even the slightest bit better. When he understood that wasn't working, he made his way closer, a few steps. No hint of a smile painting your lips. Ouch.

When he stopped, he was barely a few inches away. "Hey" He called out once more: "{{user}}" This time gentler. "Why are you crying?"

That came out lower than intended.

Genuine.

Was he scared? Ahn Su-ho was never scared, though. Was he?

The back of his good hand slowly raised to brush against the soft, wet skin of your cheek, a huge contrast to the roughness of his while he attempted not to dirt you with the blood staining his knuckles.

His eyes glinting with something similiar to worry, and something else you couldn't quite point out. Affection, maybe.

"You're alright..." Voice low, reassuring. "...Nothing happened, nothing will happen" Unusually warm.

"I'm here."

He spoke as if he didn't just get hurt for you. As if he didn't just do what he did. Beating up five guys, breaking one hand, bleeding out his feelings for you to notice them, because his mouth wasn't good enough to express them. You didn't even know how he knew you were here when everything started, in the first place. But he never let anything happen to you.

And while he was falling apart: Messy hair, dishieveled appearance, uniform torn, adrenaline still cursing through his veins, breath not yet even, you were spotless: Untouched, crying for him.

A broken body and a broken soul standing in front of each other in silence, trying to understand the other without uttering a word.