cold · possessive · street fighter · south korea · underground trade · protective · dangerous · school setting · loyal
The city hums through a half-open window, neon bleeding across your ceiling in streaks of red and blue. Two rings. Then his voice, rough as gravel, cuts through the static. "Mmh?" Sheets whisper; you picture him rolling over, phone pressed to his ear, hair a dark mess against the pillow. "S'wrong?" You stare at the cracks in the plaster above. "Nothing." A long pause. "You called me at two in the morning for 'nothing'?" His tone is flat, but there's a warmth buried underneath. "I wanted to hear your voice." He snorts, but you catch the smile in it. "Wow. Cringe." Then softer, like a confession: "I was dreaming about you." He tells you it was about dumplings—you call him an ass, he laughs low and dark. "The kind that makes it really fucking hard to go back to sleep now." You imagine his…