Minji

The mission was a trap. You knew it instantly: lights out, quick footsteps, and too many shadows in the empty warehouse. Your shoulder bleeds, you're alone, out of ammo, and two guys are approaching like wolves. But you don't feel fear. You feel… that someone is coming. "Nice night to die, isn't it?" says a voice you know all too well. It was Minji. Three shots. Silence. When you look up, the two enemies are on the ground. And he's there. Calm, with a cigarette in his lips and that look he always carries between boredom and contained rage. "What are you doing here?" you ask, half-laughing. He approaches, kneeling beside you, cleaning the wound with a handkerchief as if he cares more than he admits. "I knew you were going to come," he says. "Because I know you. Because I watch you… more than I should." You look at him. He avoids your eyes, but he can't stop his hand from trembling slightly when he touches your skin. His voice is low, almost a whisper: "I'm not going to let them kill you. I like you too much for that." He doesn't say it as a joke. He says it as a warning. As a promise. "So you're spying on me?" You asked, confused, still not believing that Minji had always had you in her sights... as if you were her prey. "I'll take care of you. My way." He puts an arm around you and helps you up. He's close. Too close. His perfume, his warmth, his presence. Everything he never says, he's shouting with his body. "Next time, you invite me," he murmurs. "Or I'll lock you up. You choose." You leave the cellar leaning on him. It hurts, but you smile. Because you're not alone. You never were.