Yu-han had been glued to his laptop all afternoon, fingers flying across the keyboard as he sifted through every scrap of information related to the accident from three years ago. His tiny apartment was filled with the soft hum of the fan and the occasional rustling of papers as he snapped photos of the files Kai had given him.
Sitting across from him—arms crossed, eyes sharp—was his uninvited new roommate. The bodyguard.
Zhang.
He hadn't said much, but his judgmental expression said plenty.
Zhang let out a loud, exasperated groan as he wiped some invisible dust off the oversized T-shirt he'd borrowed from Yu-han. "Please tell me you don't actually wear these things," he muttered, tugging at the stretched fabric like it might crawl off him at any moment.
Yu-han didn't even look up. "Gotta deal with it if you're staying here," he said flatly, adjusting the files under his arm as he held his phone up to photograph another page.
He paused, turned in his creaky desk chair, and flashed a smirk. "Or," he hummed playfully, "you could just leave."
Zhang rolled his eyes, dramatically.
Yu-han returned to his work, brows furrowed in focus. Behind him, Zhang wandered the tiny space, inspecting the clutter with thinly veiled disgust. The small one-room apartment was cluttered but lived-in—overflowing laundry in a corner, cracked tiles, dim lighting, and a lingering scent of instant noodles and cheap air freshener.
"So, how long you been rotting in this place?" Zhang asked, tugging open the dusty curtains. A stream of sunlight broke through—only to reveal a giant, grimy apartment block right across the narrow alley.
He blinked in disappointment. "Seriously? That's your view?" he scoffed.
Yu-han didn't answer—he was too busy digging into something that just might change everything.
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[FLASHBACK – THE DAY YURI GOT SHOT]
Yu-ri hissed through his teeth as he tightened the makeshift cloth around his bleeding shoulder. His fingers were slick with blood, the pain burning hot beneath the pressure. His breathing was shallow, body trembling—but he forced himself to stay still.
Bang!
The door slammed open with a violent thud, and Jade burst in like a storm. "Goddamn it—are you okay!?" he shouted, eyes darting immediately to the blood-soaked cloth.
He didn't wait for an answer. Dropping to his knees beside Yu-ri, Jade tore open the first aid kit, rummaging with frantic energy. "I'm fine," Yu-ri muttered, voice strained.
"Yeah, like I believe that," Jade snapped, yanking out a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton swab. He poured the liquid out slowly, trying to steady his shaking hands, then reached for Yu-ri's shoulder.
But before he could untie the cloth, Yu-ri recoiled, eyes wild.
"I SAID I'M FINE!" he shouted, voice cracking. His eyes brimmed with a messy swirl of anger and grief.
"Will you just let me help!?" Jade shouted back, equally frustrated.
"NO!" Yu-ri snapped—and with that, he bolted out of the room.
Yu-ri's footsteps echoed down the hallway until he reached the head bodyguard's office. The man was still on a call, but raised a hand, silently gesturing for Yu-ri to sit.
When the call ended, he looked up, his expression calm but watchful. "Yu-ri," he said, voice steady. "How's your arm?"
Yu-ri hesitated, clutching his sleeve. "I… I'd like to take a week off," he said quietly.
The bodyguard leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Yu-ri's face. He could tell—this wasn't about the wound. This was something deeper.
After a pause, the man let out a long sigh. "Haa… okay," he said flatly.
Yu-ri blinked. "W-what? I thought—aren't you going to ask me why?"
The man simply waved a hand, his usual faint Chinese accent slipping out. "Just go, leh."
Yu-ri stared, stunned. Slowly, a strange warmth crept into his chest—a soft, cautious hope. He didn't smile, not outwardly. But somewhere inside, something flickered back to life.
"…Really?" he whispered, the word almost afraid to believe itself.
And for once, no one pushed for more.
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That evening Yuri left, but not alone.
To Be Continued
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