“My boyfriend holds grudges.”
They looked at each other unsure what to think. Not understanding. You leaned back slightly in the chair, ignoring the pull on your wrists.
“And trust me,” you added, “you really don’t want to be around when he decides to act on one.”
He trained you to stay alive. How to think fast, move smart, and not freeze when it matters.
So when you get attacked in your shared home. You know he’ll show up. Even if he never really says how much you mean to him.
You were standing in the kitchen, making yourself something to eat. The spoon moved slowly through the pot. Stirring the sauce as it thickened and swirled with every motion. Steam rose up gently, filling the space with a warm familiar scent that clung to the air.
Your eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. 23:46. It was late – too late for a proper meal maybe – but you were hungry anyway. Just something warm before bed. Something simple.
Music played softly in the background. Low enough to blend into the rhythm of the room. Your hips swayed faintly to the beat without you really noticing. The apartment felt calm in that late-night way. Dim lights and nothing demanding your attention.
The window was slightly open. A cool breeze slipped inside, moving through the kitchen and brushing lightly against your skin. It carried the fresh night with it.
For a moment everything felt relaxed.
But stillness at this hour always felt a little too good to be true. You paused for a second, spoon hovering above the pot. The music kept playing. Everything exactly the same as before but something felt… sharper than it should’ve.
You shook the thought away.
It was just a quiet night. You moved your hand to stir the sauce once more–
A sound cut through the room. Small at first. Almost nothing. Then louder.
A crack at the front door.
You froze. The spoon hovered above the pot, forgotten for a second as the music kept playing.
You listened anyway. Nothing followed. No footsteps. No movement. Just silence sitting too heavy in the walls.
“…Probably nothing,” you muttered under your breath. More to convince yourself than anything else. You turned slightly back toward the stove.
Then the second sound hit. Not a crack this time. A slow, deliberate shift. Like something pressing into the door again. Testing it.
Your stomach dropped instantly. This wasn’t the building settling.
You set the spoon down slowly. For a second, you just stood there, listening again. You were trying to understand what kind of something it was. Another faint shift at the door.
Quietly, you stepped away from the stove. Your eyes scanning the kitchen in an instant. The room suddenly felt different. Every object more noticeable than before.
Your hand reached for the nearest thing you could use. A heavy kitchen knife.
You didn’t hesitate as your fingers closed around the handle. Music still played in the background. Almost insulting in how normal it sounded.
You turned it off. Silence hit immediately.
Now every sound mattered. You backed away from the kitchen slowly. Careful not to drag your feet. Eyes fixed on the hallway leading toward the entrance.
You slipped into the darker side of the room. Positioning yourself where the light didn’t fully reach you. Close enough to move fast. Hidden enough to disappear into the space.
Knife steady in your hand. Breathing controlled.
The front door stayed quiet.
A faint click from the door. Your entire body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.
One step.
Then another. The door opened slowly. Like whoever was entering already knew the space too well. That was enough.
You crossed the distance in a heartbeat, slipping out of the kitchen shadow with the knife already raised. No hesitation. No second guessing. Exactly like he taught you.
Aim. Commit. End it quickly.
You struck. The blade came down in a clean movement. But the moment your attack landed, something was off.
No stumble. No real resistance. Just adjustment.
Effortless. Your wrist was caught mid-motion. Firm grip. Immediate control. Before you could even register the shift in power. Your arm was twisted – not painfully but decisively – redirecting your momentum instead of fighting it.
The knife slipped from your hand. Clattered somewhere out of reach.
You barely had time to inhale. Your balance was gone. A single smooth movement pulled you forward. Then turned you and your feet losing contact with anything stable as your body was guided down to the floor.
The floor met your back in a dull impact. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to stop you.
And then he was there. A steady weight above you, pinning your arms in place with practiced ease. One knee securing your movement, one hand keeping you grounded without pressing too much force.
Silence filled the space.
His voice was calm. Close enough that you felt it more than heard it. Your breath hitched. Recognition hit a second later.
The tension in your body didn’t vanish all at once. Frustration and relief colliding as you exhaled sharply through your nose.
You tilted your head slightly. And without thinking twice. You reached up. Your hand finding his face. His skin was warm under your fingers. He didn’t stop you.
Just looked down at you – expression steady, unreadable in that familiar way of his. You pulled him down just enough to press a quick kiss to him.
Then another. Small and short. Like a reset button after impact. Only then did he finally speak again.
“You hesitated,” he said. You let out a laugh. Still pinned beneath him.
“You’re heavier than I expected,” you muttered.
“…That’s not what I meant.”
That earned the faintest change in his expression. It was almost nothing but enough that you knew he heard you.
You let out a breath, your fingers still resting lightly against his jaw.
“…So,” you murmured, glancing up at him, “how was work?”
A beat of silence. His expression didn’t change.
Your hand slid down slightly, resting against his chest now. Holding yourself after the sudden adrenaline.
“Let me guess,” you added, a faint smirk tugging at your lips, “nothing went wrong. Everything went exactly according to plan and you didn’t break a sweat.”
That made you smile again.
He didn’t react to that either.
But his grip shifted slightly – as he finally eased some of his weight off you. Though he didn’t fully let you go yet.
“You dropped your guard,” he said instead.
There it was. You sighed.
For a second, neither of you moved. He looked down at you. His eyes fully focused on you.
His other hand caught your wrist – not tightly but firmly enough to guide it away from his face.
“You’re not focused,” he said quietly.
“…Excuse me?” You said amused.
His expression didn’t change. “I knew where you would attack.”
That made a faint smile tug at your lips.
“Wow,” you murmured. “Did you come back from your mission just to roast me in my own kitchen?”
His thumb pressed lightly against your wrist once. Checking.
“You hesitated,” he reminded again.
You let out a soft breath through your nose, still smiling.
“I didn’t hesitate,” you said. “I recognized you.”
Your fingers brushed lightly against his wrist now. Returning the touch like it was nothing new between you.
“That’s your fault, by the way,” you said casually.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Not in annoyance. In assessment.
“You make the same footsteps every time you come home,” you said. “It’s kind of predictable.”
That earned the smallest pause.
You hummed softly, almost satisfied.
Only then did he finally release you properly. Slow and controlled. Shifting back just enough to give you space to sit up.
You stayed close for a second longer than necessary.
Just enough time to breathe.
“See?” you murmured, smoothing a hand through your hair. “Progress.”
His gaze didn’t leave you.
That earned another laugh from you.
Before you could think too much about it. You leaned forward again and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. Not teasing this time. A habit more than a statement.
You pressed your lips only for a second before pulling back.
He didn’t react outwardly. But his eyes followed you.
“…You’re distracting,” he said finally.
“Good,” you replied lightly. “Then my guard’s not the only thing dropping tonight.”
Then, as if deciding the moment was already over. He shifted fully back and straightened.
“Great,” you muttered while glancing toward the kitchen. “My food’s definitely ruined now.”
Without waiting for a response you turned and walked back toward the stove.
The apartment felt normal again. Almost like nothing had happened. You reached for the pot, giving the sauce a quick stir. Checking the heat.
Behind you, you could hear him move towards you. Steps crossing the room. Always the same.
You glanced over your shoulder.
“You’re staying this time, or–?”
You let the question hang in the air. He stopped a few steps behind you.
You nodded slightly to his answer.
Then, softer: “I made enough for two.” Silence settled between you again.
Your hand slowed slightly in the pot. Not stopping. Just enough to show you heard him.
You hummed quietly, processing it without making a big deal out of it.
Of course not. You let out a breath. “Alright. Try not to get into trouble.”
Later that night, the apartment had settled into a stillness.
The lights were off. Leaving the room in soft darkness. Broken only by the glow slipping in from outside. Somewhere in the distance, the city still moved but it felt far away.
You lay in bed, the warmth of the blankets wrapped around you. Your body slowly relaxing after everything. Beside you, he hadn’t moved much since lying down.
You could tell he was still awake.
It was in the way he breathed. Like he wasn’t fully letting himself rest.
You moved slightly. The mattress dipping under the small movement. For a moment, you stayed where you were. Staring into the dark listening to that familiar breathing beside you.
Then you turned. Slowly, without thinking too much about it you moved closer to him. Your hand found him first. Resting against his chest. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath your fingers.
You let yourself settle there.
Closer now, your head coming to rest just below his shoulder. Fitting into that space like it was something you’d done a hundred times before. Which you did.
For a moment, he didn’t react. Didn’t pull you closer. Didn’t move away.
Just…watched you silently.
Then, after a second, his arm shifted. It came to rest around you with enough pressure to keep you there. A controlled adjustment. Like he had simply accepted your presence.
Your fingers moved slowly against his shirt until they settled there. Holding onto that steady warmth without thinking. The silence between you wasn’t cold. Just your way of communicating.
“…You should sleep,” you whispered. Your voice softer now, already edged with exhaustion.
You were not fully convinced but your eyes are already closing. Your breathing began to slow, matching his without effort. He didn’t move again. Didn’t adjust. Nor pull away.
Just stayed exactly where he was. His arm still resting around you. Outside, the distant sounds of the city blurred into the background.
Inside, everything felt Safe. And this time, when sleep finally pulled you under–
Light filtered through the curtains, stretching across the room. You didn’t move at first. His arm was still around you. Exactly where it had been the night before.
For a moment, you just lay there, listening to his breathing—steady now. Awake.
Of course. You shifted slightly, enough to look up at him.
Not a question. A small pause.
You nodded faintly. No surprise.
Your hand rested briefly against his chest before you pushed yourself up. The warmth leaving with the movement. The room felt cooler immediately.
He was already sitting up behind you. By the time you stood. He was moving efficient. Like a switch had been flipped back on. You followed him out of the bedroom. Rubbing the last bit of sleep from your eyes as he started gathering his things.
Jacket. Gear. Everything in its place. You reached for it before he did. Picking up his jacket and holding it out to him.
He took it without a word. As he slipped it on you stepped closer. Your hands moving automatically. Straightening the collar, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. A small habit. Unnecessary.
Still he didn’t stop you. Didn’t comment on your behavior.
Just stood there, letting you. When you were done. Your hands stayed for a second longer than needed. Then you leaned in and pressing a quick kiss to him.
Soft and short. A goodbye, nothing more. You pulled back but didn’t move away completely.
“Everything locked,” he said.
You huffed under your breath.
“Windows.” You exhaled, just a little amused now.
That made you pause for a second. Then a smile crossed your lips.
“Wow,” you said. “You really think I wasn’t paying attention?”
“…I think you get comfortable.”
There it was again. You shook your head to that.
His eyes stayed on you a second longer. Then he gave a small nod.
“Go,” you said softly. “Before you start to miss me.”
A brief pause. Then he turned.
By the time the door closed behind him, the apartment felt different.
___________________________________________________________________________
The day went by slowly. It was late afternoon when you said goodbye to the cashier at the small store near your block. Grocery bags hung from your arms as you made your way home. The weight slowly digging into your fingers with every step.
All you could think about was getting inside, dropping everything and making something warm to eat. Maybe putting on a series afterward and falling asleep on the couch without meaning to.
A small smile tugged at your lips at the thought. A quiet weekend. Simple. Exactly what you needed.
“Where is my man when I need him?” you mumbled under your breath as you shifted the bags higher in your arms.
He would’ve taken them without effort.
You reached your building a few moments later. Letting yourself inside before making your way up the stairs. The hallway was as still as always as you moved closer to your door.
Key in hand, you stopped right in front of it.
For a second, you just stood there.
The damage wasn’t obvious at first glance. But once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. A faint mark near the lock. The frame slightly misaligned. Too subtle to be an accident. Too specific to ignore.
Your grip on the grocery bags tightened. Your expression changed almost instantly – tiredness fading into something sharper.
Slowly, you shifted one bag down and reached for your phone. Your fingers didn’t hesitate this time.
Did you finally bring me flowers?
The message left your screen.
Somewhere far away, Hunk’s phone lit up.
He read the message once. That was enough.
Without a single word to his team. He left and nobody questioned it. He was the leader, after all.
But everyone knew where he was going.
Back at the apartment, you locked your phone and slipped it into your pocket.
Your hand immediately moved to your side. Your fingers brushing against the small knife concealed there. You didn’t draw it yet. Just made sure it was there.
Then you unlocked the door.
The silence hit you first. The door had barely clicked shut behind you when something moved—
From your left. You reacted before you fully registered it. The bags dropped.
A hand shot toward you—aiming to grab, to restrain—
You pivoted sharply, body turning on instinct. Your arm came up, deflecting the grip while your other hand moved just as quickly—
The knife was in your hand now. No hesitation. You drove it forward. A sharp gasp—shock more than pain—as the blade caught fabric, skin. Not deep, but enough.
Enough to make him stumble back.
You didn’t wait. Step in. Elbow to the ribs. He folded slightly, breath leaving him in a rough exhale as you twisted out of his reach.
Space. Create space. Your eyes snapped up—
—and something slammed into your face.
Pain exploded across your cheek, sharp and immediate. Your head snapped to the side. Balance slipping for a split second as the impact rang through you.
You stumbled but didn’t fall. Instinct kicked in before the pain could settle. The second intruder stepped in, trying to follow up, to finish what he started—
Your hand shot up, catching his wrist mid-swing, twisting hard. His momentum worked against him as you stepped in close, closing the distance before he could recover.
Your knee drove up into his stomach. The air left him in a choked sound as his body folded forward.
You didn’t stop. The knife in your hand flashed again—quick and controlled—forcing him back. Forcing space between you.
He stumbled, disoriented, trying to regain his footing—
You shoved him. Hard enough to send him crashing back into the wall. A dull thud echoed through the apartment as he dropped.
everything went quiet again.
Your breathing was heavier now. Faster.
Your cheek throbbed where he hit you. A dull pulse spreading under your skin.
But you were still standing. Still holding the knife.
Then more footsteps sounded behind you.
You turned just as they rushed you – no time to recover.
A hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back hard enough to rip a sharp cry from your throat. Pain shot through your scalp, forcing your balance off as your vision jolted.
Before you could react, something slammed into your side.
Air rushed out of your lungs as you were driven forward, barely catching yourself before another strike followed. A rough grip caught your arm, twisting it back at an angle that made your shoulder scream.
You struggled—kicked—fought—
Another blow—this time to your ribs—forcing a broken breath from you as your strength faltered for just a second too long.
And that was all they needed.
Something struck your head.
The world tilted instantly. Your vision blurring as your knees gave out beneath you. You barely felt yourself hit the ground. Your grip on everything slipping too fast to hold onto.
Your last thought flickered—
Then everything went dark.
When you came to, it wasn’t gentle.
Your head throbbed first. Pulsing pain that made it hard to think. Your vision swam as you forced your eyes open, blinking against the dim light.
Wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Your wrists were bound tight behind the chair. Rough material biting into your skin. Your shoulders protested immediately. Sending sharp pain down your arms as you tested it again.
You let your head fall back for a second. Breathing slowly through the ache before lifting your head. They were still there. At least two of them. Maybe more.
“Well,” one of them spoke up after a moment, voice rough, almost amused. “Look who’s awake.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him.
“…You don’t talk much, do you?” he added, stepping a little closer.
“Oh, I do,” you said, your voice quieter than usual but steady. “Just not when I don’t like the company.”
That earned a small scoff.
“Careful,” he muttered. “You’re not really in a position to–”
You tilted your head slightly, cutting him off.
“You should probably leave,” you said, almost casually.
Then a short, humorless laugh.
Your lips curved faintly despite the situation.
“My boyfriend holds grudges.”
They looked at each other unsure what to think. Not understanding. You leaned back slightly in the chair, ignoring the pull on your wrists.
“And trust me,” you added, “you really don’t want to be around when he decides to act on one.”
For a second there was silence. Then they started laughing at you.
Small at first and then louder. Filling the room with mocking tones.
“Did you hear that?” one of them scoffed. “Her boyfriend–”
The words didn’t finish. They just… stopped.
The laughter died instantly.
No one had heard the door. But he was there. The second man turned too late and he dropped just as quickly as the first. His voice cut off before it could rise into anything more.
Panic settled into the room. Now they understood.
You barely had time to process what was happening but you could not hide a smile. One moment they had been laughing. Mocking you and the next. Two of them were on the ground, unmoving.
You were yanked back against the chair. Pain shooting through your shoulders as something cold pressed against your throat. A knife.
“Don’t move!” the last one snapped. His voice was unsteady and shaky. His grip tightening like it might give him control.
Your breath caught as the blade pressed closer. Just enough to remind you how little space there was between threat and action.
Hunk stood a few feet away, completely still. Like he had all the time in the world. No wasted movement from him. Just that steady, unreadable look locked onto the man holding you.
“Back off,” the man stammered, trying to sound in control. Though the tension in his voice gave him away. “Or I swear–”
The man behind you tensed. The knife pressing closer against your throat as he tried to pull you back, using you as leverage.
Hunk closed the distance in seconds.
His hand shot out. Catching the man’s wrist before the blade could press any further. The grip tightened instantly before he twisted. With brutal force.
The man’s hold broke with a loud scream. His fingers losing the knife as it slipped from his hand and hit the floor.
He reacted too late. Hunk stepped in, forcing him away from you. Using his own momentum against him to keep him away from you. The movement was quick.
The man tried to resist, but he didn’t get the chance.
His body went slack and dropped to the floor beside the others. The room fell quiet again.
Only your breathing was heard now. Hunk didn’t look at the others. His attention shifted immediately to you.
He stopped in front of you, taking a second to look you over. Your face, the bruise forming along your cheek. The way your shoulders were pulled back by the restraints.
His jaw tightened slightly.
His voice was low. He reached behind you, fingers finding the bindings at your wrists. There was a brief pause, then a quick motion as he cut through them.
The pressure released instantly.
Your arms dropped forward, the sudden freedom sending a sharp ache through your shoulders as the blood rushed back in.
Hunk’s hand came up without hesitation, steadying your arm before you could fully react. Just enough to keep you from losing balance.
“Easy,” he added. His grip stayed for a moment. Making sure you were stable before letting go.
His eyes moved over you again, more carefully this time.
The bruise on your face. Your ribs. The way you held yourself.
“You should see the other guys,” you muttered. Your voice a little rough as you rolled your shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness.
Hunk didn’t react to the joke.
But his hand came up again. Fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. Careful. Like he tried not to be to ruff with you. He turned your face just enough to get a better look at the bruise forming there.
His touch was steady. Firm enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Taking it in. Then his thumb shifted slightly. Brushing just beneath your eye in a way that felt… softer.
“You should have left,” he said.
You huffed softly, leaning into his hand just a fraction.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”
Then, without another word he pulled back. He moved to the bathroom to grab a cloth and a bottle of water, anything usable. He returned just as quickly.
“Sit,” he said, though you were already doing exactly that.
The cloth was damp when he pressed it gently against your cheek. The contact made you wince slightly. But his grip adjusted immediately. Trying to be more careful.
He didn’t answer. But the pressure eased.
His attention stayed on you as he worked. Cleaning the small cuts on your skin, checking your ribs with careful movements. You watched him for a moment.
“You got my message,” you said quietly.
Then, a slight nod. You smiled faintly at that. Even if it pulled a little at the soreness in your face.
“Told you,” you added under your breath. “I make the best codewords.”
Another pause. His hand stilled for just a second before continuing. As if the words had registered somewhere deeper than he’d show. When he was done. He didn’t move away immediately.
Instead, his hand came to rest briefly at the side of your neck. His thumb brushing lightly against your skin. Not rushed. Just making sure.
“You’re staring,” you murmured after a moment, your voice softer now.
His hand stilled briefly at your neck before he pulled it back.
“I’m checking,” he replied.
You laughted lightly, but didn’t argue. The apartment had gone quiet again. Not tense this time.
You moved. The exhaustion finally catching up to you now that everything had calmed down. Every movement reminded you of it. Your ribs, your shoulders and the dull ache behind your eyes.
Hunk noticed. Of course he did.
It wasn’t really a suggestion.
The bedroom was dim, the curtains half-drawn. Letting in only a faint trace of light from outside. It felt quieter in here. Safer.
You sat down on the edge of the bed first. Exhaling slowly as the tension in your body started to catch up with you. Now that everything had stopped, it hit harder. The soreness, the exhaustion, the adrenaline.
Hunk stayed near the door for a moment, like he always did. A quick glance around. Checking. Making sure.
Only then did he move further in.
You watched him as he pulled off his gloves. Setting them aside with the same calm precision he did everything else. Like nothing had happened.
Like this was just routine.
“…You’re bleeding too, you know,” you said quietly, nodding toward his hand.
You huffed softly, shaking your head a little before easing yourself further back onto the bed. Every movement pulled somewhere, but it was manageable.
“You’re really bad at the whole ‘comforting’ thing,” you added after a second.
He didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stepped closer. Stopping beside the bed. His gaze moved over you again.
“You’re talking,” he said. “That’s a good sign.” You let out a small breath that almost passed as a laugh.
A faint pause. Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.
Close. Not distant anymore. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You shifted after a moment. Carefully, inching closer until your shoulder brushed against his side. Not asking. Just… doing it.
He didn’t move away. Didn’t comment. His arm came up a second later, settling around you – steady and firm, like it belonged there.
That was enough. You let yourself lean into him fully this time. Resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was slow, unchanged, even now.
You focused on that. Let it pull you down. “…They were loud,” you murmured after a moment, your voice softer.
Of course he did. Your fingers curled lightly into his shirt, grounding yourself there.
“You scared them.” Another pause.
Simple. But it made you smile anyway. Silence settled again, but this time it was different. Not empty. Not tense.
Your eyes were already closing.
“Told you,” you murmured. Half-asleep now, your voice barely there, “you hold grudges.”
His hand shifted slightly against your back, a small and steady motion. Not correcting you. Not denying it.
“I remember,” he said. Sleep took you not long after that.
He didn’t move.
Not until he was sure you were safe.
