#wooktzn

Wooyoung looked down at his knuckles. They were healed. The skin, which usually tended to be red, scraped, or bruised, was now a uniform color—almost boring.

He had gone two months without getting into a fight "for fun." Two months without accepting envelopes stuffed with dirty money from desperate students who wanted him to break someone’s nose.

And it was all ____’s fault. Or rather, thanks to her.

They were sitting on a park bench, sharing cheap ice cream that was melting way too fast. They weren’t officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Not yet. They were in that gray area where they held hands, sent "good morning" texts, and got jealous without admitting it.

But there was one rule between them: ____ didn’t like violence.

She knew who he was. She knew Wooyoung had a reputation as a fighting dog, someone who solved problems with his fists if the price was right.

And even though she had never explicitly forbidden it, the look of disappointment on her face every time he showed up with a fresh wound was enough to make Wooyoung want to quit.

"It’s dripping," ____ said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Wooyoung blinked and saw a drop of vanilla about to stain his pants. He wiped it up quickly with his tongue, making her laugh.

"You’ve got your head in the clouds today," she commented, taking a bite of her own ice cream.

"I was thinking about how pretty you look today," he half-lied. She did look pretty, but she also looked tense.

She’d been like this for a couple of weeks. At first, Wooyoung thought it was exams or trouble at home. But it was something more physical. ____ was constantly on high alert. She bounced her leg compulsively when they were sitting down. If a motorcycle roared past, she would jump, her reaction exaggerated.

And her phone... her phone seemed to burn in her hands.

"Everything okay?" Wooyoung asked, draping an arm behind her on the back of the bench.

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?" she replied way too quickly.

Just then, her cell phone vibrated in her lap.

____'s reaction was instant. She flipped the phone face down, covering the screen with her hand as if she were hiding a criminal secret. Her breathing sped up a little.

Wooyoung frowned.

"Who is it?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though jealousy pricked at the back of his neck.

"No one. You know, those scammer calls..." she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Hey, it’s getting late. I should go home."

Wooyoung looked at the sky. It was barely six in the evening. The sun was starting to dip, but there was still plenty of light.

Before, they used to stay out until nine or ten, walking aimlessly. But lately, the moment the sun threatened to set, ____ would flee.

"So soon?" Wooyoung leaned in a little closer to her. "I thought we could go grab some tteokbokki for dinner. I know a new place near the station."

"No," she said, almost shouting. She realized her tone and lowered her voice. "I’m sorry. It’s just... I’m tired. And I have a lot of homework. Maybe another day."

She stood up abruptly, tossing the rest of her ice cream into the trash.

"I’ll walk you, then..." Wooyoung offered, standing up as well.

"No!" She stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Really, Wooyoung. I live nearby. I prefer to walk alone, I need to... walk fast. I’ll see you tomorrow."

Before he could insist, she turned around and practically ran off, glancing back a couple of times—not to look at him, but to scan the street.

Wooyoung stood there, hands in his pockets, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Something was very wrong. And Wooyoung, who had a sixth sense for danger, knew she was hiding something big from him.

Three days passed. ____'s attitude went from "weird" to "paranoid."

At school, she skipped lunch to stay in the library. She didn’t come out to the courtyard anymore. If Wooyoung tried to hug her from behind to surprise her, she would scream in fright and turn pale, shaking for minutes afterward.

Wooyoung was losing his patience. Not with her, but with the situation. He wanted to know who or what was stealing the shine from the girl he liked.

It was Friday. Wooyoung decided he wasn’t taking "no" for an answer. He waited for her outside her last class.

When ____ came out, she was glued to a group of girls who weren’t even her close friends, using them as a human shield. She kept her head down and had headphones on, but Wooyoung noticed they weren’t plugged into anything. She was just using them to ignore the world.

"____."

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his black sneakers blocking her path. She looked up. She had dark circles under her eyes and had bitten her lower lip until it was nearly bleeding.

"Wooyoung..." she whispered. She looked side to side, nervous. "You shouldn’t be here."

"I go to school here, remember?" Wooyoung gently grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the flow of students. He led her to a quieter corner near the vending machines. "We need to talk. Now."

"I can’t, I have to go..."

"You’re not going anywhere." His voice was firm. "You’ve been avoiding me for days. You don’t want to go out at night. You jump if the phone rings. You’re scaring me, ____. Did I do something wrong? Are you bored of me?"

"What? No!" ____ looked at him with wide eyes. "It’s not you, Wooyoung..."

"Then what is it?" he insisted, softening his grip and stroking her arm with his thumb. "Tell me. I can help. You know I can."

She hesitated. For a second, it looked like she was going to break down and tell him everything. Her eyes filled with tears, and she opened her mouth. But then, her phone vibrated in her skirt pocket.

Terror crossed her face. It was an abrupt shift. Her skin lost all its color.

She pulled out the phone with shaking hands. She read the message.

Wooyoung watched as she turned even paler than usual.

"I have to go." Her voice was a thread.

"____, who is texting you?" Wooyoung tried to look at the screen, but she hid it against her chest.

"No one! Leave me alone, Wooyoung!"

She broke free from his grip with a sharp jerk and took off running toward the exit.

This time, Wooyoung didn’t stay put.

"Shit..." he muttered.

He adjusted his backpack and followed her. He didn’t run after her so as not to scare her more, but he kept a safe distance, trailing her through the crowd. He had to know where she was going and why she was so afraid.

He followed her for about five blocks. She wasn’t going home. She was heading in the opposite direction, toward an area of old parks and alleyways that was usually empty at this hour.

Wooyoung frowned. What are you doing going over there?

He saw ____ stop at the entrance of a narrow alley. She looked at her phone again, typed something quickly, and hugged herself, waiting.

Wooyoung hid behind a lamppost, watching.

A few minutes later, no one appeared. But ____ took something out of her backpack. It looked like... money. She counted some bills, wiped her tears, and put them back away. Then, she seemed to receive another message, turned around, and ran out of the alley, this time heading toward her house.

Wooyoung didn’t understand anything, but fury was starting to boil in his blood. Someone was blackmailing her. Or threatening her.

And Wooyoung knew exactly how to deal with that kind of trash.

That night, Wooyoung went to her house. He didn’t call first. He knew if he called, she would make an excuse.

He hopped the small garden fence—a skill he had perfected from all those times sneaking into her house to avoid her parents—and tapped gently on her bedroom window, which was on the ground floor.

Knock, knock.

The curtain moved. ____ peeked out, her eyes red from crying. When she saw him, she opened the window immediately, not to let him in, but to scold him in a whisper.

"Are you crazy?!" she hissed. "Go away! If they see you here...!"

"Who’s going to see me? Your parents? They’re not home, I saw their car leave." Wooyoung leaned against the window frame. "Let me in, ____."

"I can’t. It’s dangerous."

"Dangerous for who?" Wooyoung stared at her intently. "I followed you today."

____ froze.

"What?"

"I saw you go to the alley. I saw you take out money." Wooyoung spoke calmly, but he wasn’t calm at all. "Someone is screwing up your life. And you’re not telling me."

____ stepped back, covering her mouth. She started trembling violently.

"Wooyoung, please, go... if he knows you’re here..."

"He?" Wooyoung vaulted through the window, landing in her room. He closed the window and drew the curtains. "So it is a 'he'. Who is it? Someone from school?"

____ sat on her bed, defeated. She didn’t have the strength to lie anymore. Fear had consumed her completely.

"He’s not from this school..." she whispered, looking at her hands. "He’s from my old school. His name is Min-jae."

The name didn’t ring a bell to Wooyoung, which was weird, because he knew almost every troublesome bastard in the city.

"Your ex or something?"

"Something like that. We went out for two weeks and I dumped him because he was... intense." ____ hugged her knees. "But he didn’t accept it. He started following me. That’s why I changed schools. I thought I’d lost him, but... he found me a month ago."

Wooyoung felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"What is he doing to you?"

"He sends me messages. Photos of me leaving school. Photos of me in my house." ____’s voice broke. "He tells me that if I don’t go out with him, he’ll hurt my family. Or me. He asks for money not to 'post things'."

"Things?"

"Photos... private ones." ____ hid her face between her knees, sobbing. "They aren’t even real, Wooyoung. They’re edited. But they look so real... If he sends them to the school, my life is over. And today... today he told me he knew I was seeing someone."

Wooyoung went very still.

"He said if he saw you with me... he was going to kill you." ____ lifted her head, eyes full of pure terror. "He said you were a problem and that he’d take care of eliminating you. That’s why I was avoiding you. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me."

Wooyoung let out a short, incredulous, dark laugh.

"Kill me?" He pointed at his chest. "Me? Does that idiot know who I am?"

"He doesn’t care who you are. He’s crazy, Wooyoung. He carries knives and weapons everywhere. He says he has friends."

Wooyoung walked over to her and knelt in front of the bed. He pulled her hands away from her face and held them in his.

"____, listen to me. I’ve fought guys carrying weapons bigger than a pocketknife. I’ve beaten people twice my size for money. do you think I’m scared of some high school stalker?"

"But you changed..." she said, tears in her eyes. "You stopped fighting. I didn’t want to drag you back into that. I didn’t want you to turn into... into that... because of me."

Wooyoung felt a pang of pain and affection. She was trying to protect his "integrity," his attempt to be a normal guy, while she was falling apart on the inside.

"I stopped because it wasn’t worth fighting for strangers' money. But this..." Wooyoung squeezed her hands. "This is different. You are different."

"I’m scared, Wooyoung. I can’t sleep. Every time the phone vibrates I feel like I’m going to throw up." ____ pulled her hands away and started searching for something under her pillow with frantic, desperate movements. "I don’t know what to do. I don’t have any more savings, I gave him almost everything, but he keeps asking for more and keeps threatening..."

She pulled out a crumpled white envelope and her wallet.

What happened next broke something inside Wooyoung.

____ opened the wallet and dumped out everything she had. Crumpled bills, some coins. She gathered it all up in desperation and held it out to Wooyoung. Her hands were shaking so much a coin fell to the floor.

"Here..." she said, her voice choked with crying. "I know it’s not much. I know you used to charge more. But I can get more. I can sell my laptop. I can ask my grandmother."

Wooyoung looked at the money in her hands. Then he looked into her eyes.

He didn't understand.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"Paying you..." she sobbed, pushing the money toward his chest. "Please, Wooyoung. I’m hiring you. I know you don’t do it anymore, but please. Make it stop. Scare him. Beat him up. Do what you used to do. I don’t care. I just want it to stop. Please."

Silence filled the room.

Wooyoung looked at the crumpled bills. They were hard-earned wons, probably from her allowance or part-time jobs. And she was offering them to him.

Not as her boyfriend. Not as Wooyoung, the guy who walked her home and bought her ice cream.

But as Kang Wooyoung. The hired thug.

He felt like he’d been slapped with an open hand.

The girl he liked, the girl he was trying to be better for, was so terrified that she had resorted to the one version of him she hated.

And worst of all, she thought she had to pay him for him to protect her.

"Do you think..." Wooyoung had to swallow hard to get his voice out. "Do you think I need you to pay me to protect you?"

"I don’t want you to do it for free..." she stammered, not understanding the pain in his eyes. "It’s dangerous. And you left that life. If I ask you to do it, it’s a job. I don’t want it to be... personal, because if you get hurt..."

"It’s already personal, ____!" Wooyoung exploded, jumping to his feet. The money she offered fell to the floor, scattering across the carpet.

____ shrank back, startled by his yell.

"It’s me! It’s Wooyoung!" He hit his chest. "We’ve been dating for months! We kiss! We hold hands! And you think I’m some damn taxi driver you pay for a service?"

"No! I’m just desperate!" she yelled back, crying harder. "I don’t want you to think I’m using you! That’s why I want to pay! So it’s fair!"

"Fair?" Wooyoung looked at her with a mix of fury and deep hurt. "What isn’t fair is that you think my loyalty to you has a price tag. What isn’t fair is that you went through this hell alone because you thought I’d only lift a finger if there was cash involved."

He walked to the window, running his hands through his hair, frustrated, hurt, feeling dirty.

"I thought you knew me," he said, turning his back on her. "I thought you knew that for you... for you I would do it for free a thousand times over. That I would burn the entire city down if someone touched you."

"Wooyoung..." ____ got off the bed, stepping on the bills without caring. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just... I’m so scared I can’t think straight."

She approached him and touched his back. Wooyoung tensed, but didn’t pull away.

"That guy... Min-jae," Wooyoung said, his voice turning cold and metallic, the tone he used before a serious fight. "Where did he tell you to meet him to give him the money?"

"In the old park. Tomorrow at ten at night."

Wooyoung turned slowly. His eyes were dark. There was no trace left of the sweet boy who loved eating ice cream and tteokbokki. The fighter was back, but this time, it wasn’t for money. It was for something he desired much more.

He looked at the money on the floor with disgust.

"Put your money away, ____. Buy yourself something nice. Or better yet, save it to take me to dinner when this is over."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, trembling.

Wooyoung walked closer to her. He cradled her face with one hand, wiping away a tear with his thumb. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were full of rage.

"I’m going to remind that asshole why nobody messes with what’s mine. And I’m going to do it for free."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a kiss that felt like a vow.

"Tomorrow your fear ends, ____. I promise. But never, never insult me by offering me money again. Understood?"

____ nodded, sobbing against his chest. Wooyoung held her, looking out the window into the darkness of the street, already visualizing what he was going to do to Min-jae.

It wasn’t just going to be a beating. It was going to be a lesson. And for the first time in a long time, Wooyoung was eager to beat someone up for free.

The next night, at ten o'clock sharp, the old park was empty. The broken streetlamps flickered, and the air was cold.

Min-jae was sitting on one of the rusty benches, checking his phone with a smug smile, waiting for his victim. He had brought two friends, "just in case," who were smoking near the swings.

Footsteps were heard. Heavy. Unconcerned.

Min-jae looked up, expecting to see a scared ____ with an envelope of cash.

Instead, he saw a shadow in black sneakers and a gray hoodie with the hood up.

"You’re late, princess..." Min-jae started to say, but shut up when the figure stepped into the circle of light.

It wasn’t her.

Wooyoung pulled down his hood. He wasn’t smiling. His face was a mask of stone, his dark eyes shining with anger.

"Who the hell are you?" Min-jae asked, standing up. His two friends tossed their cigarettes and moved closer, trying to intimidate him. "Where is ____?"

"She’s busy," Wooyoung said in a calm voice—too calm. "She sent me to give you your... payment."

Wooyoung took a step forward. He saw Min-jae instinctively step back. Bullies were always cowards when they didn’t have the advantage.

"Are you the boyfriend?" Min-jae let out a nervous laugh. "I told you if you came, I was going to..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Wooyoung moved fast. He was like the wind. His fist connected with Min-jae’s jaw with a dry crack that echoed through the empty park.

Min-jae dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, spitting blood.

"Hey!" shouted the friends, lunging at Wooyoung.

Bad idea.

Wooyoung dodged the first blow with a fluid movement and drove his knee into the first guy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed the second by the collar of his jacket and slammed him against the lamppost.

In less than a minute, the two "reinforcements" were on the ground, groaning in pain and crawling away into the darkness.

Wooyoung turned toward Min-jae, who was trying to crawl backward, his face full of terror.

"No... wait..." the stalker stammered. "I have the photos... I’m going to post them..."

Wooyoung stomped on his hand with his shoe, hard. Min-jae screamed.

"The phone," Wooyoung ordered, holding out his hand.

Min-jae, crying, pulled out his cell phone with his free hand and handed it over, trembling.

Wooyoung checked it. He saw the messages. He saw the edited photos. He felt a wave of disgust and fury.

He threw the phone onto the concrete ground and stomped on it. Once, twice, three times, until it was nothing more than crushed plastic and glass.

Then, he grabbed Min-jae by his shirt and hoisted him up until his feet barely touched the ground.

"Listen to me closely, you piece of trash," Wooyoung whispered in his face. "If you ever write to her again. If you ever say her name. If you ever breathe the same air as her... I won’t be so nice next time. Understood?"

"Yes... yes, understood..." Min-jae whimpered.

Wooyoung released him with contempt. Min-jae fell to the ground and took off running without looking back, tripping over his own feet.

Wooyoung stood alone in the park. He looked at his knuckles. They were a little red, but nothing was broken. He took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline fade a little, but the need to see her was still there.

In ____'s room, time seemed to have stopped. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, biting her nails, checking the clock every ten seconds.

10:30 PM.

A knock on the window made her jump almost to the ceiling.

She ran to open it.

Wooyoung jumped in agilely. He brought the cold of the night in with him on his clothes and the smell of dampness, but there was no visible blood, except for a few scrapes on his hands.

"Wooyoung?" she asked, voice trembling, scanning him frantically. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Wooyoung didn’t say anything at first. He pulled something out of his pocket. It was the destroyed remains of a SIM card and a memory card. He set them on the nightstand.

"It’s over," he said, his voice raspy. "The phone is destroyed. He’s never going to bother you again. He ran off crying like a child."

____ looked at the pieces of plastic and then threw herself into his arms.

"Thank you!"

He caught her, hugging her tightly, burying his face in her neck. Feeling her warm, trembling body against his was the only thing that calmed the heat burning inside him.

"Thank you... thank you..." she sobbed against his chest. "I’m so sorry... I was so scared..."

Wooyoung pulled back slightly to look at her face. His large hands cradled her cheeks.

"You have nothing to thank me for." His eyes dropped to her lips. "But I’m still mad at you."

"For... for the money?" she asked, guilty.

"Yeah. For the money." Wooyoung gently pushed her backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she had to sit down. He remained standing between her legs. "You insulted me, ____. You made me feel like a stranger. Like my protection could be bought."

"I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to protect you..." she tried to explain.

"I know." Wooyoung leaned in, resting his hands on the mattress on either side of her, trapping her. His gaze darkened, full of an intensity that made ____'s heart race for a very different reason than fear. "But I need you to understand something. I don’t fight for money. I fight for what I want."

He leaned in closer and brushed his lips against hers.

"And I want you."

He kissed her. It wasn’t a sweet kiss of relief. It was a hungry, possessive kiss, charged with the adrenaline of the fight and the need to mark territory. ____ moaned, opening her mouth for him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Wooyoung groaned, climbing onto the bed with her, pushing her down until she was lying on her back. His weight on top of her was comforting and overwhelming at the same time.

"Wooyoung..." she whispered between kisses.

"You wanted to pay me?" he murmured against her jaw, moving his hands down to squeeze her waist tightly. "You wanted to close a deal? Fine. Let’s close the deal. But I don’t want your money."

He started to lift her shirt, his rough fingers grazing the soft skin of her stomach, making her shiver.

"I want this," he said, kissing her exposed skin. "I want you to scream my name. I want you to know you’re mine and that no one else will ever touch you while you’re with me."

____ gasped, arching her back when he kissed her chest above her bra. The mix of relief that the threat was gone and Wooyoung’s intensity was driving her crazy.

"I’m yours, Wooyoung... only yours..."

That confession broke Wooyoung’s last dam of control.

He got rid of both their clothes with quick, clumsy movements. When they were skin to skin, the heat was instant. Wooyoung looked at her like she was the most valuable thing in the world, but also like he wanted to devour her.

"You’re beautiful..." he panted.

He settled between her legs and entered her in one deep thrust, claiming what he had been protecting. ____ gasped his name, digging her nails into his back, feeling him fill her completely.

"Look at me," Wooyoung ordered, grabbing her hands and interlacing their fingers against the pillow. "Look at me, ____."

He started to move, a strong, steady rhythm. Their hips collided, the sound of skin on skin and their breathing filling the room.

Wooyoung didn’t want to be gentle today. He needed to feel her, needed to erase the fear she had felt with pleasure.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked, thrusting deep.

"Yours... I’m yours!"

"I can’t hear you."

"I’m yours, Wooyoung!"

He smiled, that lopsided smile she loved, and leaned down to kiss her wildly while picking up the pace. ____ felt like she was going to come undone. All the stress of the last few weeks turned into a ball of fire in her belly.

"I’m going to... Wooyoung, please..."

"Come for me, baby. Pay me with that."

____ came with a stifled cry, her body contracting around him. Wooyoung groaned, giving her three final brutal thrusts before emptying himself inside her, trembling, burying his face in her neck.

They stayed like that for a long while, tangled in the sheets, catching their breath. Wooyoung’s heart beat hard against her chest.

Little by little, he relaxed. He rolled over to lie by her side and pulled her toward him, hugging her protectively, as if she were a glass doll he had just recovered.

____ looked up. Wooyoung had his eyes closed, but he looked peaceful. She caressed his cheek, brushing a small cut near his ear.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Wooyoung opened one eye.

"I told you not to thank me."

He looked at the floor, where the bills she had thrown yesterday were still scattered.

"And pick that up tomorrow..." he said, pointing at the money with his chin. "Buy me a pizza with that. A large one. With extra cheese."

____ laughed, a light, free laugh she hadn’t had in weeks.

"Deal."

Wooyoung smiled and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes again.

"Now go to sleep. No one is getting in here. No one is going to hurt you while I’m here, okay?"

You were curled up on Baku’s bed when he got back from grabbing snacks. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fan he left running because you always complained it was too stuffy.

Your period had hit like a train this month, cramps twisting low in your belly, the kind that made your back ache and your legs feel heavy. You’d texted him a simple “cramping bad today” after school, and he’d replied with a bunch of thumbs-up emojis and “on my way, don’t move.”

The door clicked open and you heard his sneakers hit the floor. “Babe? I’m back. Got the stuff.”

His voice was loud even when he tried to be quiet. You groaned softly from under the blanket, not bothering to sit up. The pain had you in a ball, knees pulled to your chest, one hand pressing against your lower stomach like that would magically fix it.

Baku appeared in the doorway a second later, plastic bag swinging from one hand, his school jacket already half-off. His hair was messy from the wind outside, cheeks still a little red from running up the stairs. He took one look at you and his face shifted, eyebrows pulling together, that worried look he got whenever one of his friends was hurt.

“Shit, you look rough.” He dropped the bag on the nightstand and kicked off his socks before climbing onto the bed. The mattress dipped hard under his weight. “Still hurting a lot?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow. “Feels like someone’s punching me from the inside.”

He made a face like he wanted to fight whoever was responsible. “That bad? You should’ve called me earlier. I would’ve ditched last period.”

You managed a weak laugh. “You say that every time. You’d get in trouble again.”

“Worth it.” He scooted closer until his thigh pressed against your back. One big hand landed gently on your shoulder, rubbing slow circles. “What do you need? Heat pad? Medicine? I got both. Also chocolate, those sour gummies you like, and those weird salty crackers Juntae's sister says she always buys when she’s on her period. Figured maybe they help.”

You peeked out from the blanket. He was already digging through the bag, pulling things out like he was unloading supplies for a mission. Painkillers, a hot water bottle he must’ve filled at the convenience store, a bar of dark chocolate, and a pack of those strawberry gummies.

“You went all out,” you said, trying to sit up a little. A sharp cramp hit and you winced, curling right back down.

Baku noticed immediately. “Hey, hey, don’t move if it hurts.” He set everything aside and lay down beside you, facing you. His arm slid around your waist carefully. “C’mere. I’m your personal heater today.”

You shifted closer, letting him pull you against his chest. He was warm, always was, like a walking furnace, and the solid weight of him made the ache feel a tiny bit more bearable. His hand found your lower back and started rubbing firm, slow circles right where it hurt most.

“Like this?” he asked, voice quieter than usual but still carrying that energetic edge. “Tell me if it’s too hard or whatever.”

“It’s good,” you breathed, pressing your forehead to his collarbone. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” He kept rubbing, switching between wide circles and gentle pressing with the heel of his hand. Every few seconds he’d check your face, eyes scanning like he was looking for any sign the pain got worse. “You know, I’ve seen guys get punched in the gut during fights and they act like they’re dying. You’re dealing with this every month and still go to school and everything. That’s kinda badass.”

You snorted softly. “It’s not the same as getting punched.”

“Still hurts though, right? So yeah, badass.” He kissed the top of your head, quick and a little clumsy because he was still focused on the massage. “Want the heat pad now? I can heat it up more if it’s not hot enough.”

“In a minute.” You burrowed closer, one leg sliding over his so you could tangle together. The cramps eased a fraction with the pressure and warmth from his body. “Just stay like this for a bit.”

Baku nodded, chin resting on your hair. His free hand found yours and laced your fingers together, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He wasn’t usually this still, he was the type to bounce around, talk loud, drag you into whatever dumb idea he had that day. But when you needed quiet, he dialed it back. Sort of.

After a few minutes he started talking again, voice low and rambling like he was trying to distract you. “So today at school, Gotak tried to start some shit with this guy from another class. I told him to chill, but you know how he is. Almost had to step in. Then Si-eun just looked at them and everyone backed off. Kid’s scary sometimes.”

You smiled against his shirt. “Sounds normal.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I kept thinking about you the whole time. Texted you like ten times but didn’t send most of them ‘cause I didn’t wanna bug you if you were sleeping.”

“You can bug me,” you said. Another cramp rolled through and you tensed. Baku’s hand pressed firmer on your back, holding steady until it passed.

“There. Breathe, okay?” He waited until your shoulders relaxed again. “I hate when you’re in pain. Makes me wanna punch something, but there’s nothing to punch. Sucks.”

“You’re already helping.” You squeezed his hand. “The rubbing feels nice.”

“Good. I’ll do it all day if you want.” He shifted so he could reach better, now using both hands, one on your lower back, the other gently pressing on your stomach over your shirt. The warmth seeped through and you sighed in relief.

You stayed like that for a while, his voice filling the quiet with random stories from school, dumb jokes, anything to keep your mind off the cramps. Every time you winced he’d pause, adjust his hands, ask if it was better or worse. He wasn’t perfect at it, he pressed too hard once and you yelped, but he apologized immediately and lightened up, learning fast.

Eventually the worst of the wave passed and you felt like you could move. “Heat pad now?” you asked.

“On it.” Baku rolled off the bed in one smooth motion, grabbed the hot water bottle, and disappeared into the kitchen for a minute. You heard the microwave beep. When he came back he had it wrapped in a towel so it wouldn’t burn you.

“Here.” He climbed back in and helped you sit up against the pillows. Then he placed the heat pad right where you needed it most and pulled the blanket over both of you again. “Too hot?”

“Perfect.” You leaned into his side, the heat spreading and loosening the tight muscles.

Baku wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you half onto his chest. His other hand stayed on your stomach, rubbing lightly over the heat pad. “You hungry? I can make ramen or something. Or order food. Whatever you want.”

“Maybe later. Right now I just wanna stay here.”

“Cool with me.” He grinned down at you, that big bright smile that usually meant he was about to suggest something stupid. Instead he just said, “You’re cute when you’re all curled up like this. Even if you’re hurting.”

“Shut up,” you laughed weakly, poking his side.

“Nah, for real. I like taking care of you.” His voice got a little softer on that last part. He wasn’t great at the mushy stuff, but when he said it, he meant it.

You popped a couple of the painkillers with some water he handed you, then settled back down. The combination of heat, medicine, and his constant touching started to work. The cramps dulled to a manageable throb.

Baku kept talking, but quieter now. He told you about the new basketball shoes he wanted, about how Gotak kept beating him at arm wrestling lately, about the time he accidentally scared a first-year so bad the kid ran away, even though he just wanted to ask him for his nice shoes. Every few sentences he’d check on you. “Still okay?” or “Need me to rub again?”

At one point you dozed off for a bit, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. When you woke up he was still there, one hand in your hair now, playing with the strands while he scrolled on his phone with the other. The heat pad had cooled a little so he got up without waking you fully, reheated it, and came right back.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you mumbled when he settled in again.

“Where else would I go?” He looked genuinely confused. “My girl’s hurting. I’m staying.”

You felt your face heat up. “You’re too good at this boyfriend thing sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” He laughed loud, the sound bouncing around the room. “I’m always good at it. Just don’t tell the guys I’m over here playing nurse. They’ll never let me live it down.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose like he was checking off a list. “Want me to get the chocolate now? Sugar helps, right? That’s what Gotak told me.”

“Yeah, chocolate sounds good.”

Baku reached over, tore open the bar, and broke off a piece for you. He fed it to you instead of handing it over, grinning when you rolled your eyes but took the bite anyway. “See? I’m useful.”

“Very useful.” You chewed slowly, the sweetness cutting through the gross period taste in your mouth. “Can you keep rubbing my back?”

“On it.” He shifted so you were lying mostly on top of him now, your legs tangled with his. Both his hands worked on your lower back and hips, pressing and rubbing in that firm but careful way he’d figured out worked best. “Tell me if I hit a good spot.”

You directed him a little... “higher… yeah, there”... and he followed exactly, no complaints. His energy was still there, but it was all focused on you. Every time a cramp tried to flare up he’d press harder or pull you closer, like he could physically hold the pain back.

Hours passed like that. You ate more chocolate, shared the gummies, he ate most of them but saved the strawberry ones for you, watched a couple dumb videos on his phone together. He kept the volume low and his laughs muffled against your hair so he wouldn’t shake you too much.

At some point the cramps eased enough that you felt restless. You tried to get up to go to the bathroom and he was right there, helping you stand, one arm around your waist the whole way there and back. When you got back he had fresh water waiting and the blanket pulled back invitingly.

“Back in,” he ordered, gentle but firm. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor,” you teased, but you let him tuck you in anyway.

“Close enough today.” He climbed in after you, spooning up behind you this time. His chest pressed to your back, one arm draped carefully over your waist so his hand could rest on your stomach again. The heat from his palm mixed with the pad and it felt amazing.

You sighed, relaxing into him. “This is helping a lot. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This is what I’m supposed to do.” His voice was right by your ear now, warm breath tickling. “If I ever make you deal with this alone I deserve to get punched by Si-eun or something.”

You laughed softly. “You’d probably win that fight anyway.”

“Probably. But still.” He nuzzled the back of your neck. “I got you. Always.”

The afternoon faded into evening. Baku ordered delivery when you finally felt hungry, mild soup and rice because he remembered you didn’t want anything too heavy or spicy. He fed you bites when you were too lazy to sit up, making airplane noises like an idiot until you were laughing and swatting at him.

After eating he put on a movie, something action-y but not too loud. He kept one arm around you the whole time, hand never far from your stomach or back. Every time you shifted because of a cramp he was already moving with you, adjusting, rubbing, asking what you needed.

By the time the movie ended the worst of the day had passed. The cramps were down to a dull ache, manageable with the heat and meds. You were sleepy, body heavy in that post-pain exhaustion way.

Baku turned off the TV and rolled you gently so you faced him again. “Better now?”

“Much better,” you said, tracing lazy patterns on his chest with one finger. “You’re the best.”

He puffed up a little, proud. “Told you. Baku takes care of business.”

You smiled and leaned up to kiss him. It was soft and slow, the kind of kiss that said thank you without words. He kissed back carefully, like he was still worried about hurting you, one hand cupping your cheek.

When you pulled away he rested his forehead against yours. “You wanna sleep? I can stay over if you want. Or I can go if you need space.”

“Stay,” you said immediately. “But maybe order breakfast tomorrow? I’m probably gonna be lazy all day.”

“Done. Pancakes? Or that porridge place you like?”

“Both. We can decide in the morning.”

He grinned wide. “That’s my girl.”

You curled into him again, head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. His hand found its way back to your lower back, rubbing slow even circles even though the pain was mostly gone now. It was just habit at this point, comfort for both of you.

“Wake me up if it gets bad again,” he murmured, voice already getting sleepy. “Doesn’t matter what time. I’ll get up and rub or heat or whatever.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He kissed your hair one more time. “Love you. Even when you’re crampy and mean.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m not mean.”

“A little. But I like it.”

You poked his side and he squirmed but didn’t let go. The two of you settled, breathing syncing up in the quiet room. His body heat, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands never stopped offering little touches, it all wrapped around you like the best kind of blanket.

He might joke about it later with his friends, call himself “period hero” or something dumb, but right now he was just yours. Solid, warm, and completely focused on making sure you felt better.

Your phone screen lit up for the umpteenth time that night, but it wasn't what you were hoping for. It was a notification from a food delivery app, not a message from Humin.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the bed in frustration.

You’d been dating for almost a year. At first, everything was a mess, but it was fun. Baku was... Baku.

Sleepy, boisterous, a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he was always there. If you were cold, he gave you his jacket. If someone bothered you, that someone ended up with a punch to the face.

But ever since he joined the "Union," things had changed.

Na Baekjin wasn't a leader who gave much time off. And Baku, being the "King" of Eunjang and now a key piece in the organization, was always busy.

"I'm doing this so we can have some peace," he had told you the last time you saw him, four days ago. "If I control this, no one will mess with us."

The problem was that, in order to "protect us," he had disappeared.

There were no more tteokbokki dates. No more afternoons playing video games at his place. There were only short messages: "I'm busy," "I'm running late," "I can't make it, let's go out another day."

You felt like a ghost's girlfriend.

You looked at the clock. 11:30 PM.

Your stomach rumbled. You hadn't eaten dinner, waiting to see if he’d deign to show up, but it was clear today wasn't going to be the day either.

Frustration mixed with hunger and anger. "Screw it, Park Humin," you muttered, getting out of bed.

You put on an oversized gray hoodie—ironically, one he had left the last time he was at your place almost two weeks ago—and some comfy pants. You needed air. And you needed spicy instant ramen. Badly.

You left your apartment. The night air was cool, but not freezing. The streets in your neighborhood were relatively quiet, lit by the neon glow of promotional signs and yellowish streetlamps.

You walked toward the usual convenience store, the one three blocks away. While you walked, you checked your phone one more time.

"Going to the store, let me know if you get home." (Sent 11:35 PM)

No reply. Not even left on "read."

You shoved the phone into your hoodie pocket with rage. Was it so hard to send an emoji? An "ok"? A "be careful"?

You got to the store, bought two cups of spicy ramen, a banana milk, and some chocolates. You sat at one of the plastic tables outside to eat.

The ramen burned, but the spice helped clear your mind. You watched a few cars pass by and drunk people stumbling out of distant bars.

"Should I break up with him?" you asked your cup of noodles.

It was a question haunting your mind. You loved Humin. God, you loved him so much. But this distance... this feeling of being the last priority on his gangster to-do list was slowly killing you.

You finished eating and threw away the trash. You felt a bit better, less empty.

You started walking back home. It was already 12:15 AM. The streets were lonelier now.

That was when you felt that prickle on the back of your neck.

Someone was walking behind you.

At first, you thought it was paranoia, but when you sped up, the footsteps behind you sped up too.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You weren't in the main Union zone; you lived in the border territory, an area where guys from other schools who hated Baekjin and the Eunjang crew sometimes sneaked in.

You turned a corner, hoping to lose them.

Bad idea.

The street was cut off by construction work. It was a dead end right now.

You spun around quickly to go back, but three figures blocked the alley entrance.

"Well, well... look who we have here..." one of them said. He was wearing a southern technical school uniform, unbuttoned and dirty. They smelled like cheap cigarettes and alcohol.

"Isn't this the Eunjang King's girl?" asked the second one, a skinny guy with a rat face who looked at you in a way that made you feel instantly filthy.

Your blood ran cold.

That was the cruel irony of your situation.

Baku had distanced himself to "protect" you, so his problems wouldn't be yours. But by being his girlfriend, you had a target on your back that screamed, "Look at me, I'm the girlfriend of the asshole you hate." And now that he wasn't by your side, that target shone brighter than ever.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." you said, trying to keep your voice from trembling. You took a step back. "Let me pass."

"Pass?" The third one, the biggest, laughed and spat on the ground. "We've been wanting to send a message to the 'King of Eunjang' for weeks. But that bastard never shows up..."

He took a step toward you.

"But you... you appeared right in front of us..."

Panic exploded in your chest. You shoved your hand into your hoodie pocket, searching for your phone. Your fingers were shaking so hard you almost dropped it.

"If you come any closer, I'm calling the police!" you screamed.

"Call whoever you want, sweetheart." The skinny guy lunged at you and grabbed your wrist before you could unlock the screen.

"Let me go!"

You thrashed hard, kicking him in the leg. The guy groaned and let go for a second. You took the chance to run toward the only open gap, but the big guy grabbed you by your hood and yanked you back violently.

You fell onto the concrete floor, scraping your palms and calves. Your phone went flying and landed a couple of meters away, screen lit up.

"Damn bitch!" the skinny one growled, rubbing his leg. "Now you're really going to regret that."

You crawled backward until your back hit some sacks of cement from the construction site. You were cornered.

"We're going to take some pictures with you," the leader said, pulling out his own phone. "And we're going to send them to Baku. Let's see if he's still so arrogant when he sees his girlfriend crying."

"Get away!" you screamed, even though you knew they wouldn't listen. "Get away from me!"

The big guy crouched down and grabbed your face with a rough hand, squeezing your cheeks.

"Scream louder. No one is coming. Your boyfriend is too busy playing gangster. He left you all alone, didn't he?"

Tears started falling down your face. They were right. He had left you alone.

The skinny guy grabbed your arms to pin you down while the other one prepared to... whatever he had in mind.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the blow, waiting for the pain.

And then, it rang out.

It wasn't a police siren. It was a sound much more terrifying and, at the same time, the most beautiful sound in the world.

It was the sound of a bone breaking.

And then, an agonized scream.

You opened your eyes.

The guy who was holding the phone to take the picture was no longer standing. He was against the opposite wall as if he’d been hit by a truck. He smashed into the bricks and slumped down unconscious.

At the alley entrance, under the flickering light of the streetlamp, stood a silhouette.

He was wearing a white t-shirt, hands in his pockets, and his hair was a bit messy.

"Hey..." His voice was low, slurred, as if he had just woken up from a nap. But there was an edge to it that made the other two guys freeze. "You guys are being really loud."

It was Baku.

But it wasn't the Baku who smiled at you and stole kisses whenever you walked together. It was the Baku everyone feared.

The Monster of Eunjang.

"B-Baku!" the big guy stammered, letting go of your face as if it burned.

Park Humin walked toward them slowly. He didn't run. He didn't look worried. He looked... bored. And that made him a thousand times more terrifying.

He stopped two meters away from you all. His dark eyes scanned the scene. He saw your scraped knees. He saw your bleeding hands. He saw the tears on your face. And he saw the guy's hand still near your arm.

The indifference vanished.

His expression changed to one of pure, absolute, and terrifying fury.

"Get your dirty hands off my girlfriend," he whispered.

The skinny guy tried to pull out a knife.

"Don't come any closer! I'm going to—!"

He didn't finish the sentence. Baku moved with inhuman speed. Before you could blink, Baku's fist connected directly with the skinny guy's nose. The sound was wet and crunchy. The guy fell to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the cement.

The big one was left. The leader. He was shaking.

"Wait! We were just playing!" he yelled, backing away. "We didn't know that—!"

"Didn't know what?" Baku tilted his head. "Didn't know what? Didn't know that if you touch my girlfriend, you get a beating?"

Baku delivered a kick to his stomach that knocked all the air out of him. The guy doubled over. Then, Baku grabbed his head and slammed a knee into his face. The guy fell next to his friends.

Three against one. And it had lasted less than thirty seconds.

Silence returned to the alley, broken only by the groans of pain from the guys on the ground.

Baku stood there for a moment, breathing a bit heavily, his knuckles stained with blood that wasn't his. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and turned toward you.

You were still on the ground, trembling, in shock.

He ran to you and dropped to his knees, ignoring the dirt on the floor.

"..." His voice was no longer that of the monster everyone feared. It was your boyfriend's. Full of panic. ", look at me. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

He touched your face with shaking hands, checking you frantically.

"Humin..." you sobbed, throwing yourself into his arms.

He caught you, hugging you so tight he almost squeezed the air out of your lungs, but you needed to feel that to know you weren't dreaming and that he was really there.

You buried your face in his neck, smelling his cologne mixed with sweat.

"I'm sorry... shit, I'm so sorry..." he murmured against your hair, kissing your head over and over. "I was late. I'm an idiot."

You pulled back a little, still crying.

"You didn't answer!" you screamed at him, hitting his chest weakly. "I texted you all week! And you couldn't answer a single one, you idiot!"

Baku looked at you, and you saw something you'd never seen in him: guilt. A devastating guilt that made you feel guilty yourself for yelling at him like that.

"Baekjin ordered us to turn off our phones." He took your scraped hands and kissed them, not caring about the blood. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, I'm sorry I didn't answer the messages..."

He looked at the guys lying on the ground with renewed hatred.

"I'm going to kill them... I swear I'm going to wake these bastards up and kill them one by one for touching you."

He made a move to get up, but you grabbed his shirt.

"No!" you begged. "No, Humin. Let's go. Please. I just want to go home..."

Baku stopped. He looked into your eyes, saw the terror you still held. He nodded slowly, swallowing his rage for your sake.

"Okay. We're leaving."

He crouched down, picked up your phone from the ground—the screen was cracked—and put it in his pocket. Then, without a word, he slipped one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you up bridal style.

"I can walk..." you murmured.

"And I can carry you..." His tone allowed for no argument. "You hurt your knees. You don't have to walk."

You leaned against his chest, listening to his heart beat wildly.

"Where are we going?"

"To my place. It's empty..." Baku started walking, leaving the alley and leaving them behind. "No one's going to bother us there."

The ride was silent. Baku didn't let go of you for a second. He hailed a taxi and kept you on his lap the whole way, his arm around you like a barrier, glaring at anyone who dared to look in your direction.

You arrived at the apartment he had managed to rent with his new "job." It was a simple place, a bit messy as always, but it smelled like him. And best of all, his drunk father wasn't there screaming and demanding attention.

He took you to the bathroom and sat you on the closed toilet lid.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit," he said, and ran out.

He returned in a minute with a box of supplies and a damp towel. He knelt in front of you, between your legs.

With a gentleness that contrasted with the violence he had just unleashed, he started cleaning your knees with the towel.

"It's gonna sting a little," he warned softly.

You hissed when the antiseptic touched the raw skin. Baku stopped immediately and blew softly on the wound.

"Sorry, sorry..."

You looked at him. His brow was furrowed, focused on healing you as if it were the most important mission of his life. He looked tired. He had dark circles under his eyes. Life in the Union was wearing him down.

"Humin..." you said softly.

He looked up. His eyes met yours and filled with tears. Park Humin, the guy who never cried, had glassy eyes.

"I'm so sorry..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "If I had arrived a minute late... if they had weapons..."

He rested his head in your lap, hugging your waist. You felt his shoulders shaking.

"It's my fault." His voice came out muffled by your hoodie. "All of this. I pushed you away so you’d be safe. I thought if they didn't see me with you, if I focused on the Union work, you'd be safe. But I'm stupid. I left you alone. I left you exposed."

You stroked his soft hair, feeling your heart break for him.

"I was so mad at you..." you admitted. "I thought you didn't care anymore. That the Union was more important."

Baku snapped his head up.

"What?" He looked at you in horror. "How can you think that? The Union is shit. It's dirty work. You are... you are the only good thing I have. You're the only reason I put up with Baekjin and his bullshit."

He rose a bit and cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

"Listen to me closely, ____. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world more important than you. I stayed away because I was afraid you'd get hurt because of me. But I see I was an idiot. By staying away, I only put you in more danger and made you feel bad..."

He rested his forehead against yours.

"I'm not doing that again. Screw the Union. If I have to take you with me everywhere, I will. If I have to put Go Tak on bodyguard duty when I can't be there, I will. But I'm never leaving you alone again."

"Promise..." you whispered.

"I swear on my life." Baku kissed you.

It was a salty kiss from the tears, but full of desperation and love that left you breathless. His lips were soft, insistent. He kissed you as if he wanted to erase the memory of those guys, as if he wanted to remind you who you belonged to and who belonged to you.

When you pulled apart, both of you were panting a little.

"Let me finish fixing you up..." he said, returning to his task with your knees and hands.

When he finished, he put some colorful band-aids on you, which he claimed he bought because they were on sale. But you knew he did it because they were Iron Man ones.

"Done." He looked at you. "Hungry?"

You laughed a little, a nervous but relieved laugh.

"I already ate... I just want to sleep. A lot."

"Let's sleep then."

Baku took you to his bed. He lent you a clean t-shirt because your hoodie was dirty. He took off his sweaty shirt and stayed in sweatpants.

You lay down. Baku's bed was always full of pillows, which you always criticized because you didn't know how he could sleep like that, but it was always the most comfortable place in the world.

He pulled you into his chest, wrapping you in his strong, heavy arms. He threw a leg over yours, pinning you in a protective bear hug.

"Comfortable?" he asked against your ear.

"Yes."

"Does anything hurt?"

"No. I'm okay."

There was a moment of silence. You could feel his breathing slowing down, exhaustion overtaking him now that the adrenaline was fading.

"Humin..." you murmured.

"Mmm?"

"Those guys... They said they wanted to send you a message."

You felt him tense up for a second, but then he stroked your back to calm you.

"Don't worry about them anymore." His voice turned dark and serious for a moment. "Tomorrow I'll make sure everyone knows that if anyone looks at you wrong, all of Eunjang is going to come down on them. No one is ever going to touch you again, my love... Not while I'm with you."

He kissed the back of your neck.

"Now sleep... I'm sleepy too..."

You relaxed, closing your eyes. The fear was gone. You knew he would keep his word to take care of you. You knew that tomorrow, when you woke up, you’d have to talk more about how to manage his schedule, but for now, that didn't matter.

Park Humin was back. And this time, he wasn't planning to let go.

"I love you..." you whispered, half-asleep.

He let out a soft chuckle, that laugh that made you fall in love with him over and over again.

Baku swallowed hard. He felt a knot in his stomach, harder than any punch to the ribs he’d ever taken fighting the idiots from the Union.

"Shit."

He stood up and began pacing the small, pastel-colored room. He felt huge, clumsy, completely out of place. His large hands, rough from lack of lotion, were trembling slightly.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Our parents are going to kill us. My mom… God, my mom is going to die."

Baku stopped dead in his tracks. The mention of parents was like a bucket of ice water.

He thought of his own house. A pigsty that was empty most of the time, and when it wasn't, smelled of cheap liquor and fried chicken. His father… that man barely noticed if Baku came home or not, unless he needed money or someone to take out his drunken frustration on.

"We aren't telling my father," Baku said, frowning bitterly. "If he finds out, he kicks me out. Or worse, he’ll try to 'fix me' with his fists. He doesn't have a dime, ____. He’s not going to help us."

"Then we’re alone..." she whispered, hiding her face in her arms.

Baku looked at her. Seeing her like that, so small and scared, ignited something inside him. It was that protective instinct, the same one that made him jump in front of his friends when the punches started flying.

But this wasn't a street fight. He couldn't punch this problem until it disappeared.

He walked over and knelt in front of her chair. He took her cold hands in his, which were burning hot.

"We aren't alone, babe," Baku said firmly, even though he was dying of fear on the inside. "We have each other."

"Humin, we’re teenagers. We don't have jobs. You have problems with the Union…"

"I'll figure it out," he blurted out quickly, without thinking. "I'll look for a job. I'll stop doing stupid shit."

____ looked into his eyes, searching for a lie, but Baku was serious. Or at least, he believed he was serious.

"We have to tell your mother," he declared. "She’s the only adult who… well, acts like an adult."

____ went pale.

"She’s going to kick me out of the house, Humin..."

"Not if I’m there. Come on."

The walk to the living room was the longest journey of Park Humin’s life.

____’s mother, Mrs. Kim, was in the kitchen cutting fruit. She was a strict woman, the kind who scanned you from top to bottom and knew instantly if you’d done your homework or not. She had always tolerated Baku with a great deal of willpower, thinking he was "too loud and wild" for her daughter, but accepting him because she saw that he treated her well.

"Mom?" ____ called out.

Mrs. Kim turned around, knife in hand and a smile that vanished instantly upon seeing the look on the two kids' faces.

"What happened?" she asked, setting the knife on the table. She dried her hands on her apron. "Why the long faces? Did you crash someone's car? Humin, did you get into another fight?"

Baku stood very straight, shoulders tense. ____ stayed half a step behind him.

"Mrs. Kim… we have to tell you something," Baku started. His voice came out deeper than usual.

"Sit down," she ordered, crossing her arms. Her maternal radar was already trying to figure out what was wrong.

They sat on the sofa, side by side. Baku interlaced his fingers with ____’s, squeezing tight to give her courage and to keep himself from running away.

"Mom..." ____ started crying before she could get the words out.

Mrs. Kim’s eyes went wide. She looked at her weeping daughter, looked at Baku who had his jaw clenched and his gaze fixed on the floor, and then she looked at her daughter's stomach.

It didn't need to be said.

"No..." the mother whispered. She brought a hand to her mouth. "Tell me it isn't true."

The silence was her answer.

"You are children!" Mrs. Kim suddenly shouted. The yell made ____ jump. "You are seventeen years old! For the love of God! ____, you had plans, university… What were you thinking?!"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry?!" The woman was red with anger and disappointment. She started pacing the living room, gesturing wildly. "A 'sorry' doesn't feed a baby! A 'sorry' doesn't pay for diapers! Are you stupid?! Do you not know how babies are made?!"

Baku felt the heat rising up his neck. He wanted to defend himself, wanted to say something, but he knew she was right. They had been stupid.

Mrs. Kim stopped in front of Baku and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"And you! You were supposed to take care of her! With that 'tough guy' attitude you have, I thought you at least had the brains to protect her! You’re just like all those delinquents you hang out with!"

"Mom, don't yell at him..." ____ tried to intervene.

"You shut up!" Mrs. Kim was beside herself. "Look at him! He can't even look me in the eye! What are you going to do, Park Humin? Huh? Are you going to take the baby to your fights? Are you going to live off thin air? Your father is a drunk who doesn't even know where he's standing, do you expect him to support you?"

That was the line.

The mention of his father felt like a knife to the gut. Baku snapped his head up. His eyes met Mrs. Kim’s.

He stood up. He was much taller than her, but he made no aggressive move.

"You're right," Baku said. His voice was strong, cutting through the woman's shouting. "I'm an idiot. We were irresponsible. And my father is a useless drunk."

Mrs. Kim went quiet for a second, surprised that he didn't yell back.

"But I am not my father," Baku continued, taking a step forward. "I won't be like him."

"Words," the woman spat, though with less venom. "Those are a child's words."

"They aren't words," Baku clenched his fists at his sides. "Listen to me, Ma'am. I screwed up. We screwed up. But I'm not running away. I'm not leaving ____ alone with this."

"And what are you going to live on?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear for her daughter's future.

"I'm going to work," Baku said. "I'll drop out of school if I have to. I'll work construction, moving boxes, delivery, whatever. I have strength. I have my health. I can work double shifts."

"Humin, school..." ____ whispered, scared.

"School can wait, the baby can't." Baku looked at her and then looked back at the mother. "Ma'am, I know I'm not the son-in-law you wanted. I know you wanted a doctor or a lawyer, not me. But I swear on my life that your daughter and that baby won't go hungry."

Mrs. Kim stared at him, breathing heavily.

"You're a kid, Humin. You have no idea what life costs."

"Then I'll learn," he replied, stubborn as always. "I'll learn fast. I'll stop fighting. I'll stop the nonsense. I'm going to be a man for them. I don't care if I have to break my back working."

There was a tense silence. Baku held the woman's gaze, daring her to find any doubt in his eyes. There was none. He was terrified, yes, but his loyalty was true.

Mrs. Kim looked at Baku. She saw his slightly wrinkled t-shirt, his worn-out sneakers, his knuckles with old scars. But she also saw the way his body was angled protectively toward ____, even while arguing with her.

She saw that he wasn't making excuses. He wasn't blaming the girl. He was taking the bullet.

The woman let out a long, shaky sigh and collapsed into the armchair. She covered her face with her hands.

"Mom..." ____ got up and went to her, kneeling by her side.

Mrs. Kim moved her hands away and looked at her daughter. Her eyes were full of tears.

"You've ruined your lives..." she murmured, no longer shouting, just sad. "You were going to go to university, ____."

"I can still go..." ____ said quickly. "Humin said he'd work. I can study and take care of the baby. It'll be hard, but..."

The mother looked at Baku, who was still standing there, uncomfortable, awaiting the sentence.

"Are you really going to quit fighting?" she asked him, her tone serious.

"Yes," Baku said without hesitation. "I don't have time to play tough guy anymore. Now I have to be one for real."

Mrs. Kim shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, but her posture relaxed.

"You are not quitting school, Humin," she said sternly.

Baku blinked. "What? But I need money..."

"You will finish high school. Both of you," the woman declared, regaining her commanding tone. "If you are going to be the father of my grandchild, I don't want you to be an uneducated ignoramus without a diploma. You will look for a part-time job. And on weekends."

"But the money won't be enou—"

"You have a roof here," she cut him off. "I am not kicking my pregnant daughter out onto the street, much less so she can go live in that hole you call a home with your father."

Baku felt his legs trembling with relief. ____ let out a sob and hugged her mother's knees.

"Thank you, Mom... thank you."

Mrs. Kim stroked her daughter's hair, but she looked at Baku seriously.

"Don't think this is a reward, Park Humin. I am very disappointed. Very upset. You two are going to have to grow up. No more going out, no more games. You are going to be parents."

"I know..." Baku said. He lowered his head in a sign of respect, a deep bow. "Thank you, Ma'am. I won't let you down. I promise I'll take care of them."

"You better," she said, her voice hard, but then she sighed. "Lift your head up. If you're going to be a father, you can't go around hanging your head."

Baku straightened up.

"Come here," Mrs. Kim said, opening her arms slightly, inviting Baku too, albeit reluctantly.

____ pulled Baku by his t-shirt, and the three of them stood in a strange, awkward hug. Mrs. Kim smelled of dish soap.

"My God... I'm going to be a grandmother," the woman muttered, as if she had just realized it. "I'm too young to be a grandmother. How embarrassing with the neighbors."

Baku said nothing, but for the first time since he saw the pregnancy test, he felt like he could breathe.

Later, when the storm had passed and Mrs. Kim went to her room to process the news—and probably cry a little more—Baku and ____ stayed out on the porch of the house.

The night was cool. Baku leaned against the railing, looking at the empty street.

____ walked over and leaned on his shoulder.

"You were incredible in there," she whispered. "I thought you were going to faint when she started screaming."

"I almost did," Baku admitted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Your mom is scarier than Seongje..."

____ let out a tired giggle.

"Did you mean it?" she asked, turning serious. "About quitting fighting? About working? Humin, you love being free. This... this is like a cage for you."

Baku looked at her. He thought about the rush of adrenaline, the freedom of the street. Yes, he liked it. But then he looked at ____, and placed his large, calloused hand over her belly.

It was still flat. But there was something there. Something of his.

"It's not a cage," Baku said, frowning as he searched for the right words. He was no poet. "It's... it's my new fight. And I can't lose this one."

He stroked her stomach with his thumb, with a gentleness that contrasted with his brute hands.

"I'm not going to be like my father, ____. That baby is going to have a dad who is there. Even if I come home tired, even if I smell like cement or burger grease. I'm going to be there."

____ smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"I know. You'll be the best dad in the world, Baku."

Baku looked out at the dark street. The fear was still there; he knew hard times were coming. Sleepless nights, lack of money, people's stares, the judgment.

But feeling ____’s warmth beside him, Park Humin clenched his free fist. He was ready.

If the world wanted to come for his little family, he would be waiting for it—not with fists raised to destroy, but to protect.

And that was the most important fight of his life.

You were currently a curled-up ball of misery wrapped in three blankets.

Your lower abdomen felt like it was being repeatedly stabbed by tiny, angry demons. Period cramps were the absolute worst, and today was day two, which was always your heaviest and most painful day. You literally had to skip your heavy leg day at the gym this morning because you couldn’t even stand up straight without feeling like your insides were dropping.

You groaned, clutching your heating pad tighter against your stomach, burying your face into your pillows.

Suddenly, you heard the front door of your apartment click open. You had given Park Humin a spare key a few months ago, and his heavy, familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway.

"Babe? You in here?" his deep voice called out.

The bedroom door pushed open, and there he was. Humin looked huge standing in the doorway, wearing his Eunjang high school uniform with the shirt slightly untucked and his tie missing. He was carrying a massive plastic bag from your favorite takeout place.

When he saw you looking like a miserable burrito on the bed, his face immediately softened into a huge pout.

"Aw, my poor baby," he cooed, walking over and dropping his heavy backpack on the floor. He set the food on the nightstand and immediately climbed onto the bed, wrapping his massive arms around your blanket-covered body.

"Everything hurts, Humin," you mumbled against his chest, completely melting into his warmth. He always ran so hot, which was honestly better than the heating pad.

"I know, I know," he whispered, pressing a bunch of soft kisses to the top of your messy hair. "I brought food to make it better. I got the spicy chicken stew you love. And don't worry, I told the lunch lady like three times to make absolutely sure there was zero beef in it, not even in the broth, because I know how much you hate it. I literally watched her make it."

You couldn't help but smile a little. He was always so attentive to the little things.

"Thank you," you sighed, peeking out from the blankets. "You're the best."

"I try," he grinned, that big, goofy smile that always made your heart do a flip.

He pulled you up so you were leaning against the headboard, and he opened the takeout containers for you. The two of you sat in bed, eating the spicy chicken and rice. Humin kept feeding you pieces of chicken from his own chopsticks, completely ignoring his own food just to make sure you were eating enough.

Once the food was gone and the containers were tossed in the trash, Humin didn't waste a single second. He practically dragged you into his lap.

You straddled his thighs, resting your head on his broad shoulder, while he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. One of his large, warm hands slid up under the back of your oversized t-shirt, resting directly on your bare skin. He started rubbing slow, soothing circles on your lower back, right where it was aching.

"Does that feel better?" he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

"Mhm. Much better," you hummed, closing your eyes.

For a while, it was just quiet and sweet. But Humin was a very tactile guy. He loved physical touch, and having you sitting on his lap, so close and so soft, was definitely starting to affect him.

His kisses, which started as sweet little pecks on your shoulder and neck, started getting a little deeper. He pressed his lips against your jawline, sucking a little bit of the skin there. His hand that was rubbing your back slowly drifted downward, his fingers tracing the waistband of your sweatpants.

You shivered, feeling the familiar heat pooling in your stomach that had nothing to do with your cramps.

You lifted your head and looked at him. Humin's dark eyes were already heavy with desire. He looked at your lips, swiped his tongue over his own, and leaned in to capture your mouth in a deep, wet kiss.

You kissed him back immediately, your hands tangling in his messy dark hair. He tasted like the spicy stew and the mint gum he always chewed. Humin groaned into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you even closer, his hips shifting upward slightly.

You felt exactly how hard he already was underneath you.

Things were escalating fast. The air in the bedroom felt thick and hot. His hands were roaming all over your body, squeezing your thighs, tracing your sides. But then, a sharp twinge in your stomach brought you back to reality.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, and put your hands flat against his chest to stop him.

"Humin, wait," you panted, your face flushed.

He blinked, looking slightly dazed and extremely turned on. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" he asked quickly, his protective instincts kicking in.

"No, no, you didn't," you assured him, biting your lip nervously. "It's just… I'm on my period, remember? It's day two. It's really heavy and… messy. We can't."

You expected him to sigh, maybe look a little disappointed, and just pull you back into a cuddle to watch a movie. Most guys would get grossed out or just back off immediately.

But this was Park Humin.

His dark eyes held yours, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his handsome face. He didn't look grossed out in the slightest. If anything, the fact that you thought it would stop him seemed to amuse him.

"You really think I care about a little mess?" he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"Humin, it'll get on the sheets," you warned, though your own resolve was crumbling by the second because of the way he was looking at you.

"I'll just grab a dark towel," he replied effortlessly, not breaking eye contact. He shifted his hips upward again, letting you feel exactly how desperate he was for you. "I don't care, baby. I just want you. Please?"

His large hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks. The intense, hungry look in his eyes completely short-circuited your brain. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

"Let me take care of you…" Humin’s voice was low and rough, vibrating against your lips as he repeated, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

Your breath hitched. The cramps were still there, a dull, persistent ache, but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing he wanted in the entire world—made it impossible to say no.

“…Okay,” you whispered, barely audible.

That was all he needed.

A deep, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest as he captured your mouth again, kissing you harder this time, more possessive. His tongue slid against yours, tasting you like he was starving. One of his big hands stayed on your lower back, pressing you closer, while the other slipped under your shirt and slowly dragged upward, palm hot against your skin.

He broke the kiss just long enough to tug your oversized t-shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes darkened as they raked over your bare chest, your breasts already heavy and sensitive from your period. He didn’t hesitate, his mouth was on you instantly, lips wrapping around one nipple, sucking gently before giving it a soft bite that made you gasp.

“Humin—” you moaned, fingers tightening in his hair.

He hummed against your skin, switching to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention while his free hand slid down to your sweatpants. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and paused, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You did as he asked, and he peeled the sweatpants and your soaked underwear down your legs in one smooth motion, tossing them off the bed. The cool air hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his body as he rolled you onto your back, careful not to put too much pressure on your aching stomach.

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a dark towel from the drawer (he really had thought of everything), and spread it beneath you with quick, efficient movements. Then he was back between your thighs, his broad shoulders keeping your legs spread open for him.

Humin stared down at your pussy, already wet, swollen, and smeared with blood, and the hunger in his eyes only intensified. He licked his lips.

“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “So pretty even when you’re messy.”

Before you could feel any embarrassment, he lowered his head and dragged his tongue slowly from your entrance up to your clit, tasting everything. The warm, wet slide of his tongue made your back arch, a broken whimper escaping your throat.

He groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through you.

“Shit, baby… you taste even better like this.”

He didn’t hold back. His tongue worked you with long, deliberate strokes, lapping at your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you to collect every drop of blood and slick. One of his large hands pressed gently on your lower abdomen, right over the worst of the cramps, providing firm, soothing pressure while his mouth devoured you.

The combination of relief from the pressure and the intense pleasure had your thighs trembling around his head within minutes.

“Humin—oh god—” you cried out, hips twitching.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly, and your orgasm hit you hard and fast. Your whole body seized up, a loud moan tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, your walls clenching around nothing while fresh slick and blood coated his lips and chin.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking and pushing weakly at his head, oversensitive.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth and chin were glistening, streaked with red. He looked utterly wrecked and completely satisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but it only smeared the mess more.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded breathlessly, reaching for him.

He climbed up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. While you were distracted by the kiss, he shoved his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, thick, heavy, and leaking precum at the tip.

He rubbed the head against your slick, messy folds, coating himself in you.

“You sure?” he whispered against your lips, even though his hips were already pressing forward, teasing your entrance.

“Yes—please, Humin…”

With a low groan, he pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open. The glide was easier than usual because of how wet and swollen you were, but the fullness still made you gasp. He bottomed out with a deep sigh, forehead pressed to yours.

“Fuck… so warm and tight,” he rasped. “Even better when you’re like this.”

He started moving, slow, deep thrusts at first, mindful of your cramps. Every time he pushed in, his pelvis ground against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through the lingering pain. His hand stayed on your lower belly, pressing gently, helping ease the ache while he fucked you.

Gradually his pace picked up, hips snapping harder, the wet, messy sounds of your bodies filling the room. Blood and slick smeared across the towel and his skin with every thrust, but he didn’t care. If anything, it seemed to turn him on more, his groans were deeper, his grip on your hips tighter.

“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, burying his face in your neck. “I could stay inside you forever like this… my perfect girl.”

One of his hands slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles. The pressure on your belly, the deep thrusts, and his thumb working you over had another orgasm building fast.

“Humin—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, thrusting harder. “Wanna feel you squeeze my cock while you’re all messy and dripping for me.”

You shattered again, crying out his name as your walls pulsed around him, pulling him deeper. The intense contractions dragged him over the edge with you, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a moan, thick ropes of cum flooding you, mixing with your blood and slick.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, bodies trembling. Then he carefully pulled out, watching with dark, satisfied eyes as a mix of cum and blood slowly leaked from your pussy onto the towel.

Humin leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

“Still hurts?” he asked quietly, brushing damp hair from your face.

“A little… but way better now,” you admitted, voice shy and hoarse.

He smiled, that big, sweet grin breaking through the intensity, and kissed you again, softer this time.

“Good. Because I’m not done taking care of you yet.”

He reached for another towel, gently cleaning you up as best he could, then pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in his warmth again. His hand returned to your lower belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles while he pressed kisses to your hair.

He groaned loudly and let his head hit his desk with a dull thud.

It all started two months ago. You had been dating the giant golden retriever of a boy for almost a year. You were a foreigner, an exchange student with Hispanic roots, and while your Korean was great, you still slipped into Spanish whenever you were surprised, angry, or really happy.

Baku thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Whenever you stubbed your toe and yelled "¡Ah, mierda!" or whenever you tasted really good food and mumbled "Dios, qué rico," his heart did a stupid little flip. He loved the way the words rolled off your tongue. He loved how fast and passionate you sounded.

But he hated not knowing what you were saying.

Especially when you called him pet names. Sometimes you would play with his hair and call him "Mi osito" or "Mi amor," and he would just blush and nod, completely clueless but totally in love.

So, Baku did what any overly dedicated, totally whipped boyfriend would do. He secretly enrolled in an online beginner’s Spanish class.

His plan was flawless. He was going to study in secret for a few months, and then, on your one-year anniversary, he was going to drop a perfectly pronounced, super romantic speech in Spanish. He imagined you crying happy tears, jumping into his arms, and kissing him all over his face.

It was a great plan.

Until the midterm exam.

Which was tomorrow.

And Baku hadn’t realized that Spanish grammar was basically a torture device designed to destroy his brain.

"Why does a table have a gender?" Baku whispered to his empty room, staring at his flashcards. "Why is la mesa a girl? It’s a piece of wood!"

Suddenly, the front door of his apartment clicked open. He had given you a spare key a few weeks ago, and he heard your familiar footsteps in the hallway, followed by the rustling of plastic bags.

"Humin! I brought tteokbokki!" your voice rang out, cheerful and bright.

Baku panicked. He scrambled to gather his flashcards, his heavy textbook, and his notebook. He tried to shove them under his bed, but his giant hands knocked over his trash can instead.

"Humin? Are you in there?"

The bedroom door pushed open. You walked in holding a bag of spicy street food, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that went down to your thighs. You stopped in your tracks, blinking at the chaotic scene.

Baku was frozen on the floor, half under his bed, holding a bright yellow book with the words ¡ESPAÑOL PASO A PASO! printed in giant red letters on the cover.

You looked at him. You looked at the book. You looked at the whiteboard on his wall that had verb conjugations scribbled in his messy handwriting.

"Baku..." you said slowly, your eyes wide. "Are you... studying Spanish?"

His face instantly turned the color of a tomato. He slowly pulled himself out from under the bed, still clutching the book to his chest like a shield. He couldn't even look you in the eye. He just stared at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I... uh. No?" he lied horribly.

"Humin," you giggled, setting the food down on his nightstand. You walked over to him and gently pulled the textbook from his massive hands. "You literally have 'El verbo ESTAR' written on your forehead in dry-erase marker."

He quickly wiped his forehead, his blush deepening. "Man, I'm so stupid," he mumbled, looking totally defeated. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

Your heart completely melted into a puddle. You dropped the book on the floor and threw your arms around his neck. He immediately wrapped his thick arms around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder, still embarrassed.

"You were learning Spanish for me?" you asked softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah," he grumbled against your hoodie. "You always say cute things to me, and I never know what they mean. I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary. I wanted to say... I wanted to say a whole speech. But your language makes zero sense, _____."

You laughed out loud, a happy, bright sound that made him look up at you.

"Oh, my sweet baby," you cooed, kissing his nose. "That is literally the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. But why do you look like you're about to cry?"

"Because I have an online exam tomorrow!" he wailed, acting like a giant baby. He dropped his head back onto your shoulder. "If I fail, I get kicked out of the program. And I don't know anything. I don't know the difference between por and para. I don't know why hacer changes to hago. It's a nightmare!"

You couldn't help it. You started laughing so hard your stomach hurt. The image of Eunjang's strongest boy, the guy who made bullies pee their pants, being defeated by Spanish verbs was just too funny.

"Don't laugh at me!" he whined, picking you up by the waist and dropping you onto his bed. He hovered over you, pouting. "I'm suffering here."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. You reached up and cupped his cheeks, squishing his face. "I'll help you. I am a native speaker, after all. What's your exam on?"

His eyes lit up like you had just handed him a million dollars. "Really? You'll help me?"

"Of course I will, idiota," you smiled, pulling him down for a proper kiss. His lips were soft and eager, and he kissed you back with a desperate kind of relief, his heavy body pressing you gently into the mattress.

"Okay, enough of that," you said, pushing his chest playfully after a minute. "Go get your laptop. Let's see how bad the damage is."

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on his bed, the laptop resting on a pillow between you. Baku was sitting right next to you, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching the screen like a lost puppy.

"Alright, let's start with pronunciation," you said, opening his study guide. "Read this sentence for me."

The sentence was: El perro corre rápido por el ferrocarril. (The dog runs fast through the railroad).

Baku squinted at the screen. He took a deep breath, looking extremely serious.

"El... pe-ro... co-re... rap-i-do... por el... fello-ca-lil?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles, but a snort escaped anyway.

Baku groaned, hiding his face in your neck. "I told you! I sound like an idiot!"

"No, no, baby, it's okay!" you promised, petting his hair. "You just have to roll your R's. Like this: Rrrrr."

Baku lifted his head and tried. "Dddrrr. Grrrr. Rwaaa." He sounded like an engine trying to start in the middle of winter.

"Put your tongue behind your top teeth and blow air," you instructed, turning your head to face him.

He stared at your mouth intensely, then tried again. "Rrrr... perro."

"Yes! Exactly!" you cheered, clapping your hands.

Baku's chest puffed out with pride. He smirked. "I did it. Do I get a prize?"

"A prize?"

He tapped his lips with a thick finger. "A kiss for every word I say right. That's the only way my brain works."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fine. Say ferrocarril."

"Fello— wait. Fer-ro-ca-rril."

He struggled, but he got it out. You leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. He chased your lips, trying to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

"Ah ah ah. Only a quick kiss. Focus, Humin."

He huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Fine. What's next?"

"Okay, let's check your vocabulary," you said, scrolling down. "How do you say 'I am 18 years old'?"

Baku smiled confidently. "Oh, I know this one! It's easy." He cleared his throat. "Tengo dieciocho anos."

You froze.

You stared at him. He smiled back, looking extremely proud of himself, completely unaware of what he had just said.

"What?" he asked, his smile faltering when you didn't say anything. "Did I say it wrong?"

You slowly put your face in your hands and started shaking with laughter. You were laughing so hard that no sound was coming out, and tears were literally forming in the corners of your eyes.

"_____! What did I say?!" Baku panicked, grabbing your shoulders. "Stop laughing! I thought I said years!"

"Humin," you wheezed, wiping a tear from your cheek. "You... you have to put the little squiggle over the 'n'. The ñ. It's años."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Anos."

"No, baby. Años means years. Anos means... anuses."

Baku stared at you. His brain buffered for a solid five seconds.

Then, his entire face, down to his neck, turned a violent shade of red. He threw his hands over his face, falling backward onto the mattress with a loud groan.

"I told my teacher I had 18 anuses yesterday on a voice recording," he whispered into his hands. "I'm going to drop out of school. I'm moving to the mountains. You can never look at me again."

You couldn't breathe. You were laughing so hard you fell back onto his chest, clutching your stomach. "Oh my god... I would pay money to see your teacher's face!"

"Stop it!" he whined, wrapping his arms around you to hide you against his chest, embarrassed but refusing to let you go. "This language is a trap! One little squiggle and suddenly I'm a medical anomaly!"

"It's okay, it's a common mistake!" you giggled, kissing his jawline since his face was still hidden. "I promise I won't tell Gotak or Sieun. They would never let you live it down."

"If you tell Gotak, I will literally throw him out a window," Baku mumbled, finally peeking out from behind his hands. He looked at you, his dark eyes softening when he saw how happy you were. Even though he felt dumb, seeing you laugh like this made the humiliation totally worth it.

"Okay, let's keep going," you said, sitting up and pulling him up with you. "Let's practice some conjugations. If you get three in a row right, you get a real kiss."

Baku's competitive side instantly woke up. He sat up straight, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. "Bring it on."

For the next two hours, his room turned into a battlefield of grammar.

"To eat. Comer," you prompted. "Say 'We eat'."

"Nosotros... comemos!"

"Yes! Good boy. To sleep. Dormir. Say 'She sleeps'."

Baku frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in heavy concentration. "Ella... dorme? Wait, no. The 'o' changes. Ella duerme!"

"Correct!" You leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. His large hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He smiled into the kiss, totally addicted to the reward system.

But it wasn't all smooth sailing.

"Okay, to want. Querer. Say 'I want you'."

Baku looked at you. His eyes darkened a little, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Yo... quiero... tú?"

"Almost," you teased, tapping his nose. "It's Yo te quiero. The 'te' goes before the verb."

"That's stupid," he argued, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling his waist. "Why is it backwards? In Korean it's straightforward. In English it's straightforward."

"Don't question the language, just learn it," you laughed, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. "Say it."

"Yo te quiero," he said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and incredibly sexy. His pronunciation was still a little clumsy, but the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

"Muy bien," you whispered.

He didn't wait for his reward kiss this time. He took it. He pulled you down by the waist, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands were warm as they slid under your hoodie, resting on the bare skin of your lower back. You sighed into his mouth, running your fingers through his messy, dark hair.

He tasted like the mint gum he always chewed and felt like home. You could feel his heart beating fast against your chest. For a guy who looked so scary to the rest of the world, he was so incredibly gentle with you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless.

"Was that correct?" he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"Perfect," you smiled.

"Can I stop studying now? My brain is melting."

"Humin, your exam is tomorrow."

"I know enough to pass. Probably. Maybe," he groaned, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around you like a giant koala. "I'm so tired. Feed me tteokbokki."

You laughed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the food you had brought earlier. It was lukewarm now, but neither of you cared. You sat on his lap, feeding him spicy rice cakes with a toothpick while he held you securely.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said softly, popping a fish cake into your own mouth. "Taking a whole class just to talk to me. You're already the best boyfriend ever."

Baku chewed and swallowed before looking at you seriously.

"I wanted to," he said simply. "You always make me feel special. You make that whole foreign country feel like home for me, even though you're the one who's far from home. I wanted to... I don't know. I wanted to be closer to your world."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You put the food down and hugged him tight, burying your face in his neck. "You're gonna make me cry, you idiot."

He chuckled, rubbing your back with his large hand. "Don't cry. Tell me something in Spanish."

You pulled back and looked into his eyes.

"Eres el amor de mi vida," you said softly.

Baku smiled. He didn't know the exact translation, but he knew the word amor, and he knew the word vida. And he knew the way you looked at him.

"I know what that means," he whispered, leaning in to kiss you again. "And you're mine, too."

***

The next day, Baku sat in the school library with his laptop, staring at the final screen of his online exam.

Sieun and Gotak were sitting across from him, eating snacks.

"Is he still doing that weird test?" Gotak whispered loudly to Sieun. "He's been staring at the screen for ten minutes without blinking."

"He's processing," Sieun said calmly, flipping a page in his book. "Leave him be."

Baku took a deep breath and clicked 'Submit'.

A little loading circle spun on the screen. His heart was pounding louder than when he fought Baekjin.

The screen refreshed.

Score: 78% (C+)

Status: PASS

Baku let out a massive breath, slumping back into his chair. He rubbed his face with his hands, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face.

"I passed," he whispered. Then, louder, "I passed! I'm a bilingual genius!"

"You got a C+, Humin," Sieun pointed out without looking up. "That's hardly a genius level."

"Shut up, Sieun, a pass is a pass!" Baku slammed his laptop shut and jumped up, grabbing his backpack. "I gotta go find _____!"

He ran out of the library, leaving Gotak confused and Sieun slightly amused.

Baku found you by your locker, putting away your books. You looked up when you heard his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.

"Humin! How did it go?" you asked, closing your locker.

He didn't answer with words. He walked right up to you, picked you up by the waist, and spun you around, making you squeal. He put you down, grinning from ear to ear.

"¡Setenta y ocho por ciento!" he announced proudly, butchering the pronunciation but getting the point across.

"You passed!" you cheered, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him right there in the middle of the hallway. You didn't care who was watching. "I'm so proud of you, mi amor!"

"I literally guessed on the subjunctive part, but your kisses gave me good luck," he laughed, holding you close.

"Well, you deserve a reward," you smiled, playing with his collar. "What do you want to do to celebrate?"

Baku looked down at you, his eyes full of adoration. He leaned in close to your ear.

"Quiero... comer... contigo... y después..." He paused, his brain working overtime to remember the words. "Muchos besos."

You giggled, your heart swelling with so much love you thought it might burst. His accent was terrible. His grammar was incredibly simple.

But to you? It was the most perfect Spanish in the world.

"Muchos besos it is, mi osito," you whispered back, kissing his cheek. "Let's go."

As you walked out of the school hand in hand, Baku realized that he might never fully understand the complicated grammar rules, and he would probably embarrass himself a hundred more times trying to roll his R's.

The rain in Seoul wasn’t like the soft, romantic drizzle you see in the dramas she loved. This was cold rain, the kind that soaked right through to your socks.

____ walked down the sidewalk, her umbrella angled against the wind, feeling like the most pathetic person in the world. For a week now, she’d felt like something was off. Park Humin, her boyfriend—the guy who used to send stupid texts at 3 AM and show up at her door just because he was "bored"—had fallen off the map.

"I've got stuff to do." "I'm with the boys." "Talk later."

Short answers. Dry.

____ tried not to be the paranoid girlfriend. She knew Baku had his own life; sometimes he got into trouble, or just hung out with his friends and slept all afternoon. But that gut instinct was nagging at the back of her neck.

And then, she saw him.

Not in a dark alley fighting. It was in a café with big windows in a trendy area.

Baku was sitting at a table in the back. And he wasn't alone.

There was a girl with him. A gorgeous girl with long, wavy hair, dressed in clothes that definitely looked expensive. She was laughing, covering her mouth delicately.

And Baku... Baku was looking at her with an expression ____ knew well: that mix of shyness and focus he had when he really cared about something.

She watched the girl lean over the table and touch Baku's hand. He didn't pull away. Instead, he scratched the back of his neck, blushing, and nodded.

____'s world stopped. The traffic noise faded. All that was left was a ringing in her ears and the feeling that she’d just been punched in the gut.

She turned around and took off running in the rain, not caring about splashing through puddles, fleeing from the image that had just broken her heart.

Baku called at 9:00 PM. ____ stared at the lit-up screen in the darkness of her room.

Incoming call: Humin <3.

She let it ring until it went to voicemail. He called again. And again. Then came the texts.

"Hey, where are you?"

"Stopped by your place, lights are out."

"Did something happen? Answer me."

____ turned off her phone and pulled the pillow over her head, crying silently until she fell asleep.

A day passed.

Baku waited for her outside her part-time job. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking around impatiently.

When ____ saw him, her heart gave a painful thud. He looked handsome, the idiot. But the image of the girl touching his hand flashed in her mind like a strobe light.

She couldn't talk to him. If she spoke, she’d cry. Or scream.

And she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She turned on her heel and slipped out the back service door, taking a long, dirty alley to get to the farthest bus stop, just to avoid him.

Her phone buzzed with a voicemail from him.

"I know you came out! I asked your coworker! ____, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop acting like this!"

She deleted the message without listening to the whole thing.

"Coward," she thought. "He doesn't even have the guts to admit it."

On the third day, ____ was in her apartment, sitting on the couch, watching a show without paying attention. Her eyes were swollen. She hadn't eaten properly in two days.

Someone banged on the door. It wasn't a polite knock. It was loud, rapid pounding.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"

It was him.

____ tensed up. She didn't move.

"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" Baku shouted. "I can hear the TV! Open up or I'm breaking the door down! I'm not playing!"

____ stood up, trembling with rage. Enough was enough. If he wanted to talk, they would talk.

She walked to the entryway and yanked the door open. Baku was there, hand raised to pound again. He looked terrible. He had dark circles, messy hair, and was soaked from the rain that had started falling again.

"Finally!" he complained, pushing his way inside and slamming the door behind him. "Do you mind telling me what’s wrong with you?! I’ve been looking for you like a maniac for three days! I thought something happened to you!"

"Get out," she said, voice cold, hugging herself.

"What?" Baku blinked, incredulous. "That’s all you’re gonna say? 'Get out'? You’ve been ignoring me for three days! You owe me an explanation!"

"I owe you an explanation?" ____ let out a bitter laugh. "You’re the one with some explaining to do, Park Humin."

Baku frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you." Her voice cracked. "Monday. In Yeonnam-dong."

Baku's face paled slightly. That was all ____ needed to confirm her suspicions. His guilty silence.

"Ah... that..." he started, stammering, scratching his neck nervously. "Look, I can explain, it’s not..."

"I don't want your cheap excuses," she cut him off, feeling hot tears on her cheeks. "I saw you with her. I saw you smiling at her. I saw you let her touch you. You’ve been avoiding me all week to be with her, haven't you? She’s really pretty. Probably more fun than me. Probably doesn't give you trouble."

"No! Wait!" Baku tried to step closer, but she backed away.

"Don't come near me!" she screamed. "If you got bored of me, have the balls to tell me to my face! Don't do this to me! Don't make me feel like an idiot while you parade around the city with your new girlfriend!"

"SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!" Baku roared, frustrated that the words weren't coming out right. He was good at fighting, not talking. "Just listen to me for a second!"

"I don't want to hear lies!" ____ grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it at him. "Get out! Go be with her! Just go and leave me alone!"

Baku caught the cushion in mid-air and threw it on the floor in anger. "Dammit, ____, shut up and listen!" He advanced toward her, cornering her against the wall. She tried to escape, but he planted his hands on either side of her head, trapping her.

"Get away!" she cried, hitting his chest.

"SHE'S GO TAK'S COUSIN!" Baku shouted in her face, loud enough to shut her up instantly. The silence fell heavy in the room. The only sound was their ragged breathing. ____ looked at him, blinking, tears stopped halfway down her cheeks.

"What?" she whispered.

Baku took a deep breath, trying to calm down. His face was red with frustration. "She. Is. Go. Tak's. Cousin," he repeated, sounding out every syllable. "Her name is Min-ji. She studies design. She's family. She's... basically like my sister, for God's sake!"

"But..." ____ felt dizzy. "She was touching your hand... and you were laughing... and looking at her..."

"Because she was telling me I have gorilla fingers!" Baku exploded, jamming his hand roughly into his wet jacket pocket. "And I was laughing out of nervousness because I didn't know if you were gonna like this!"

He pulled out a blue velvet box, slightly crushed, and shoved it into ____'s hand hard, almost hitting her with it.

"Here! Open it!"

____ looked at the box with trembling hands. She opened it. Inside was a ring.

Not an engagement ring, but a beautiful silver ring, with a small bright stone set in a design that looked like a claw or a wave. It was strange but delicate.

Very Baku.

"I've been working extra jobs all week to pay for it," Baku said, his voice dropping, turning raspy and defensive. "I asked Go Tak's cousin to help me pick it out because I don't know about this stuff and I didn't want to buy you trash. We were at the café looking at the catalog. That’s it."

____ looked up. Baku was watching her with a mix of fury, exhaustion, and fear. Fear of having lost her over something stupid. "A ring?" her voice was a thread.

"Yeah." Baku looked away, embarrassed. "You wanted us to be an 'official couple,' right? Well, there you go. So everyone knows you're mine."

"I thought you were cheating on me..." ____ covered her face with her hands, feeling like the stupidest person on the planet. "I'm an idiot... Humin, I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, you are an idiot." Baku pulled her hands away from her face roughly, but then cupped her cheeks with his large, warm palms. "But now you're my idiot."

He looked into her eyes, and the intensity in his gaze changed. It wasn't anger anymore. It was need. "You almost drove me crazy, you know that?" he growled. "Three days without hearing from you. Thinking something happened to you. Thinking you didn't want me anymore."

"I love you... I love you so much..." she sobbed.

Baku didn't wait any longer. He smashed his mouth against hers. It was a savage kiss, tasting of salt from tears and the rainwater still running down Humin's face and hair.

Baku kissed her like he wanted to devour her, punishing her a little for doubting, but claiming her at the same time. ____ responded with equal force, clinging to his neck, pulling his wet hair.

"You scared me," he murmured against her lips, sliding his hands down to her waist to press her against his body. "Shit, you scared me bad."

"Shut up and kiss me," she asked.

Baku lifted her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her to the couch and sat down, having her straddle him. "I'm going to show you how much I missed you," he warned, biting her neck. "So you never even think about doubting how much I like you again."

He started taking off her clothes with impatient hands. No games. The tension of the last three days, the fight, the shouting... all of that needed a physical outlet. When ____ was exposed before him, Baku looked at her with adoration.

"Beautiful..."

He unzipped his pants, freeing himself. ____ could feel his hardness against her through her underwear. Baku reached in and pushed the fabric aside.

"You're wet..." he noted, with a satisfied, predatory smile. "Did you miss me?"

"So much..." she gasped.

Baku lowered her onto him. The entry was rough, deep. ____ threw her head back with a choked cry as he filled her completely.

"Mine," Baku growled in her ear, gripping her hips to set the pace. "Mine, mine, mine."

He started thrusting hard, from below. ____ clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. The movement was frantic. Baku fucked her with desperation, seeking to erase any trace of insecurity, marking her from the inside.

"Humin... ah... Humin!"

"Tell me you love me," he demanded, hitting her sweet spot over and over. "Say it."

"I love you! I love you!"

Baku leaned forward and captured one of her breasts with his mouth, sucking hard, leaving a visible mark. ____ arched, feeling the pleasure building fast, too fast.

"I'm gonna... Humin, I'm gonna..."

"Do it. Come for me."

Baku slid a hand between their bodies to touch her, giving her the final push. ____ unraveled in his arms, trembling violently, screaming his name. Baku followed her seconds later with a hoarse growl, emptying himself inside her, holding her tight against his chest as if he wanted to fuse them into one.

They stayed like that, panting, silence slowly returning to the apartment. Baku had his face hidden in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily. ____ stroked his wet hair, feeling his heart beating against hers.

A few minutes passed. Baku lifted his head. His lips were swollen and his eyes bright.

"Are we good now?" he asked, with that childish vulnerability he only showed after sex.

____ smiled, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Yeah. We're good."

Baku sighed in relief and let his head drop onto her shoulder again. "Thank god. Because I'm exhausted. Fighting with you is tiring."

____ laughed softly.

"Hey..." Baku moved, pulling the ring out of his pocket; he’d retrieved it at some point. "Give me your hand."

____ held out her hand. Baku slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. "I guessed the size right," he murmured, satisfied. "Well, Go Tak's cousin guessed right. I had to describe your fingers. I said they were small and pretty."

____ looked at the ring. It shone on her hand. "It's beautiful, Humin. Thank you. And sorry for being so jealous."

"It's okay. I like a little jealousy," he admitted, smirking. "Means you care about me. But don't overdo it, woman. You almost gave me a heart attack."

He stood up from the couch with her still in his arms, walking toward the bedroom. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To bed," he replied. "I'm cold, I'm wet, and I want to sleep cuddling you. And then I want you to order pizza."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because I put up with three days of your misunderstandings. It's only fair."

He laid her gently on the mattress and started taking off the rest of his wet clothes to get under the sheets with her.

"Fine. I'll order the pizza." ____ grabbed her phone. "Spicy pepperoni?"

"Spicy pepperoni." Baku snuggled up next to her, throwing a heavy arm over her waist and burying his face in her stomach. "And ask for extra cheese."

____ stroked his head as she dialed the number. "I love you, dummy."

If you asked anyone in Yeongdeungpo who Kang ____ was, the answer usually came accompanied by a grimace of fear or grudging respect.

She wasn't a high-ranking leader in the Union, she didn't sit at the table with Na Baekjin to discuss finances, but she was known for a very simple reason: she was friends with Geum Seongje. And to be friends with Geum Seongje, you had to be just as crazy or have knuckles just as hard as his.

____ had both.

She liked chaos, she liked the sound of crunching bones, and she liked adrenaline.

But lately, she had found a new hobby. A much quieter hobby, with glasses and a scared face.

Seo Juntae.

It had all started by chance. She had seen him one day when Seongje had decided to drag her along to Eunjang; he was glued to the wall as if trying to merge with the cement to become invisible.

He had his backpack pulled all the way up and walked with quick, nervous steps behind his friends. He looked like a rabbit in the middle of a highway.

____ found it hilarious.

That day, just for fun, she had appeared out of nowhere around a corner, slapping the wall with her hand right next to his head.

"Boo!" she had said, not shouting, just with a malicious smile.

Juntae's reaction was pure gold. He did a ridiculous little hop, his glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he let out a stifled squeak that sounded like a squeezed rubber toy. He went pale in a millisecond.

Since that day, ____ was hooked on that boy.

It was like having a human stress-relief toy.

"Are you going to see the nerd again?" Seongje asked her that afternoon. They were sitting on a railing, smoking and watching people pass by. Her friend had that bored look he always wore when something interested him more than it should.

"Of course," ____ replied, jumping down and adjusting the black leather jacket that was a bit too big for her. "I haven't seen him in two days; it's like seeing my little pet, you know?"

Seongje let out a raspy laugh and threw the cigarette butt on the ground.

"You have weird tastes, ____."

"And that's none of your business, Seongje-ah."

____ walked away with her hands in her pockets, humming a song. She knew Juntae's route. She knew that at this time he left school and took the long way to avoid the idiots guarding the south zone.

What Juntae didn't know was that the long way passed right through where she liked to ambush him.

She saw him in the distance. He was looking at the ground, probably thinking about math formulas or whatever smart kids thought about.

____ sped up, moving with the stealth she had learned in street fights. She hid behind a vending machine and waited.

Three, two, one...

Just when Juntae passed by, she stepped out.

"Hey, four-eyes!"

Juntae stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulders tensed up so much they almost touched his ears. He turned his head slowly, as if expecting to see death in person, and when he saw ____, his eyes went wide as saucers behind his thick lenses.

"H-hello..." he stammered. His voice was a thread.

____ smiled, showing her teeth. She approached him slowly, enjoying how he instinctively backed away until he bumped into a light pole. He had nowhere to run.

"What do you have there?" she asked, pointing at his backpack with her chin.

"B-books... just books..." Juntae hugged his backpack against his chest, using it as a shield. His knuckles were white from gripping the straps so hard.

"Books? How boring," ____ leaned forward, shamelessly invading his personal space. She could smell the fear on him, but also the scent of clean soap, something very different from the smell of tobacco and sweat of the Union guys. "I thought you'd have something more interesting. Money, maybe."

Juntae swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously.

"I-I don't have money... I'm sorry... really..."

He was trembling. ____ looked at his hands. Indeed, they were vibrating slightly. It was adorable.

It made her want to pinch his cheeks until they turned red, but she held back.

"Relax, little chick. I don't want your money," she said, letting out a laugh and slapping him on the shoulder, which, although friendly, almost knocked him to the ground with its force. "Today you're safe. I like you."

She walked away laughing, leaving him glued to the pole, confused and with his heart racing a mile a minute. ____ felt wonderful. Seeing that little panicked face made her day more than any fight she won.

But the fun ended two days later.

It was late, the sky was already dark, and the streetlights flickered. ____ was coming back from a meeting with the Union, in a bad mood because Baekjin had been more demanding than usual about the territories.

She decided to take the shortcut through the alley behind the convenience store, hoping to find something open to buy a soda.

That was when she heard the noise.

The unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, unpleasant laughter, and the dull thud of someone falling to the ground.

____ frowned and peeked around the corner.

There were three guys. They weren't from the Union; they looked like they were from some third-rate school, with unbuttoned uniforms and idiot faces.

They were surrounding someone who was lying on the ground, curled into a ball.

"Come on, get up! Aren't you from Eunjang?" said one of them, kicking the boy on the ground in the ribs. "I thought the Eunjang guys were tough!"

The boy on the ground let out a whimper of pain, protecting his head with his arms.

____ recognized that backpack. And she recognized those glasses lying a meter away, with one of the arms bent.

It was her chick.

It was Juntae.

Something hot and dark rose up in ____'s chest. It wasn't the usual excitement of a fight. It was rage. Pure, burning rage.

Juntae was her toy. She was the only one who could scare him. She was the only one who could corner him against the wall.

Seeing those three imbeciles beating him while he didn't even defend himself made her blood boil.

"Hey," said ____. Her voice came out calm, but with that dangerous tone that made even Seongje look twice.

The three guys turned around. When they saw it was a girl, they smiled stupidly. "What do you want, sweetheart? Go home before..."

He didn't finish the sentence. ____ had already moved.

It was fast. A direct kick to the knee of the one who spoke first, making him fall with a scream. Before the other two could react, ____ landed a punch on the second one's nose. The sound of cartilage breaking resonated in the alley.

The third one, seeing his friends on the ground, hesitated.

"Do you know who I am?" asked ____, cracking her neck.

The guy looked at her jacket, then her face. Recognition crossed his eyes.

"Shit... it's the crazy girl from the Union..."

"Get lost," she ordered. "And if I see you touching this boy again, I'm going to pull your teeth out one by one with pliers."

The three guys ran off, dragging themselves and stumbling over each other.

The alley fell silent again.

____ let out a heavy sigh, fixed her hair, and looked at the ground.

Juntae was still curled into a ball, trembling violently.

"They're gone, get up," she said, with a tone that wasn't kind, but wasn't aggressive either.

Juntae didn't move. He was hyperventilating.

____ clicked her tongue, impatient. She walked over to him, picked up his broken glasses from the ground, and put them in her pocket. Then she crouched down and grabbed his arm.

"I said get up."

She pulled him up with ease. Juntae weighed less than he looked. When she had him standing, she could see the damage. He had a split lip, an ugly bruise on his cheekbone that was already turning purple, and his clothes were full of dust and shoe prints.

Juntae looked at her, trying to focus without his glasses. His eyes were full of tears that he refused to let fall.

"You're coming with me," she stated.

"N-no... I have to go h-home..." he stammered, trying to pull away.

"Walk."

She didn't give him a choice. She literally dragged him out of the alley, leading him by the arm as if he were a small child who had just thrown a tantrum. They walked two blocks to a convenience store that was better lit and had tables outside.

"Sit," she ordered, pushing him gently toward one of the white plastic chairs. "And don't move. If you move, I'll hit you myself."

Juntae sat down, shrinking into himself, hugging his own body. Everything hurt, but he was more afraid of the girl who had just saved him.

____ went into the store. She took five minutes. When she came out, she was carrying a plastic bag full of things.

She sat in the chair across from him, opened the bag, and took out a bottle of water, wet wipes, disinfectant, band-aids, and a carton of strawberry milk.

"Here," she tossed the strawberry milk to him.

Juntae caught it clumsily. "W-what is this?"

"Milk. So your bones grow and you stop being such a weakling," she said, opening the package of wipes. "Come closer."

Juntae hesitated. ____ rolled her eyes, got up slightly from her chair, grabbed his chin, and pulled his face toward the light.

"Ah!" he complained when she passed the wipe over the cut on his cheek.

"Shut up, don't be a crybaby. You just got beaten up; a little alcohol is nothing."

____ began to clean his face. Her movements, to Juntae's surprise, weren't rough.

Her hands were strong, with knuckles a bit red, but her fingers were careful when they touched the injured skin around his eyes.

Juntae stayed very still, barely breathing. He could see her up close now. She had an expression of absolute concentration, with her brow furrowed and the tip of her tongue peeking out slightly from the corner of her lips.

She was pretty, in a strange way, but quite pretty.

"Why didn't you fight back?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence while opening a band-aid.

Juntae looked down, ashamed.

"I-I don't know how to fight..." he murmured. "I'm weak."

"You're an idiot, that's what you are," she snorted, sticking the band-aid on his cheekbone with a final tap that made him wince. "Even if you can't fight, you have to bite, scream, poke their eyes. Do something. If you just lie there like an idiot, they're going to come back for you."

"Not everyone is like you..." said Juntae quietly, almost to himself.

____ stopped. She stared at him.

Juntae was trembling again.

Not from cold, but from that mix of coming down from adrenaline and shame. His pressed lips were white. His eyes, large and dark without the glasses, were shiny, liquid.

He was making a huge effort not to cry in front of her.

And there it was.

That feeling again.

____ felt a tickle in her stomach. Seeing him like that, trying to maintain composure, so fragile, so... tender. It was like seeing a wet kitten in the rain trying to roar.

A sudden wave of affection hit her. A strange and overwhelming need to... give him affection.

"You are incredibly pathetic," she said, but her voice had changed. It didn't sound harsh anymore. It sounded soft, almost amused.

Juntae looked up, surprised by the change in tone.

"I k-know..."

"And you shake a lot. You look like jelly."

____ smiled sideways. Without thinking too much, or perhaps thinking too much, she leaned over the table.

Juntae froze, watching her face get closer. Was she going to hit him? Was she going to yell at him? He closed his eyes tight, waiting for the impact.

But the impact was soft.

Damp.

Warm.

____ pressed her lips against Juntae's healthy cheek.

It wasn't a quick kiss. She took her time, a couple of seconds where Juntae's world stopped completely. He could feel her warmth, the smell of her perfume mixed with the leather of her jacket.

When she pulled away, Juntae was in shock. His eyes were wide open, his mouth slightly agape, and his face, which was pale before, was now a deep red color that reached the tips of his ears.

____ let out a delighted giggle seeing his reaction.

"You look like a tomato," she teased.

"Y-you... you... m-me... w-why..." Juntae couldn't form a coherent sentence. His brain had short-circuited.

____ didn't sit back down. Instead, she walked around the table and stood next to his chair. Juntae turned to look at her, still stunned.

She leaned down and rested her chin on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around him from behind, as if he were her property.

Her weight on his back was comforting. Juntae felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest, but for the first time that night, it wasn't out of fear.

"Listen to me well, four-eyes," she whispered in his ear. Her breath tickled his neck and sent a shiver down his spine. "I like that you're this scaredy. It's cute. But I don't like others touching you."

Juntae swallowed, feeling her arm around his chest, near his racing heart.

"Understood?" she insisted, squeezing him a little tighter.

"Y-yes..." he squeaked.

"Good." ____ took the broken glasses out of her jacket pocket and put them on him carefully, even though they sat a little crooked. "Now you look better."

She separated from him and took a black permanent marker out of her pocket. She grabbed Juntae's hand, pulled up his uniform sleeve, and began to write something on his forearm.

The tip of the marker tickled the sensitive skin of his wrist. "W-what are you doing?" asked Juntae, looking at the black numbers appearing on his skin.

"Giving you my number, dummy." ____ finished writing and capped the marker with a loud click. "Next time someone bothers you, or you're scared, or you simply don't know what to do... you call me."

"But... I'm fine... I can take care of mys..." he tried to protest, out of pure residual masculine pride.

____ looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure, that's why you just let them use you as a punching bag. But..." she leaned in again, bringing her face close to his until their noses almost touched. Juntae stopped breathing. "...I say it because I want you to call me."

Juntae blinked.

"You... want me to call you?"

"Yes. I get bored fast and you're fun. Plus, you owe me a strawberry milk and a date to make up for me having to save your butt."

____ winked at him, turned around, and began to walk away with that air of carefree confidence, hands in her pockets and leather jacket shining under the neon lights.

"Ah!" she stopped and turned one last time. "And don't wash your arm until you save the number. If you don't call me tomorrow, I'll come find you at Eunjang. And believe me, that will scare you more than the guys in the alley."

Juntae remained sitting there, alone, in front of the convenience store.

He had a broken lip, an aching body, and crooked glasses.

He looked at the carton of strawberry milk on the table. Then he looked at the numbers written on his arm in black ink. He brought a hand to his cheek, right where she had kissed him. He could still feel the pressure of her lips.

A small, shy, and totally confused smile formed on his face.

"She's crazy..." he whispered, but there was no fear in his voice.

He grabbed the strawberry milk, stabbed the straw in, and took a sip. It tasted sweet. Too sweet.

Just like her.

He took out his phone with hands that still trembled a little, but now from excitement, and began to save the contact.

Name: ____ (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

He put the phone away, finished the milk in one gulp, and stood up.