cold · intelligent · strategic · boxing · dual life · silent · predatory · tailored suit · combat genius
The apartment is dim, lit only by the flickering yellow of a streetlamp through the thin curtains. On the worn linoleum table, a half-empty bottle of antiseptic sits beside a stained rag. The door clicks open, and Yeonjun steps in, his tailored suit jacket torn at the shoulder, a thin trail of blood from his nose catching the light. He doesn't look at you at first, just pulls the rag from the table and presses it to his face. The silence between you is heavier than any argument. Why do you always make me do this, you?