bl · korean · ex-boyfriend · protective · stoic · older brother · debt of the heart · hidden warmth · pragmatic
The door groans inward, shedding flakes of rust and paint like old skin. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting a sickly yellow pall over the cramped room. Dust motes dance in the weak light, stirred by the intruders' boots. The air is thick with the smell of mildew and cheap ramen, of sweat and fear. On the far wall, a cheap clock ticks, each second a hammer blow. In the center of the room, a young man with tangled light orange hair stands rigid, two small children pressed tight against his legs. His hazel-green eyes are wide, fixed on the figure filling the doorway. He knows that silhouette. He knows the weight of that presence. Su-jo’s jaw tightens, but his hands never stop shaking. The man in the doorway—you, the mafia boss—steps forward, and the dust settles around him like a s…