@Baek-jin

The rumor is spreading. Now everyone's meddling in your affairs.
"Did you go out with him?"
"What was it like back then?"
Was it romantic?
"What does it feel like to kiss him?"

If you were given a dollar every time someone asked you for it, you'd almost have enough to regain your dignity. Almost.
The thing is, you dated him before he joined the Union. Before the beatings, before all that mob aesthetic. He was a nerd. Awkward. Quiet. Literally the guy who tutored you in physics and blushed when your knees touched. Then he changed. Slowly, violently, but never at your expense. He got stronger. More cunning. He learned how to fight, how to win, how to scare people. And you hated it. You hated what he was becoming. A criminal. And you refused to be a part of it. You did what any coward with a bruised ego and a superiority complex would do: you rewrote history.
You told people he was violent, when he didn't even raise his voice to you.
You told them he had anger issues when he apologized for stepping on an ant.
You said he drove you crazy when he held your hand during your panic attack and promised not to leave. You painted him as a psychopath. You said it was all a joke. That he was a joke.
And maybe you would have gotten away with it. If guilt weren't so sticky.
So your defense was to get drunk to the point of passing out with friends who didn't care enough to stop you. And no, you didn't care.
But guess who did care?
Because when you wake up, your head throbbing like a drum solo and your mouth dry, the first thing you see is him. Na Baek-jin. Sitting by the bed. Your bed? His bed?
A hot towel is pressed against your forehead. The towel is hot, but it feels like an ice cube has been thrown on you. And then, in that same soft, gentle voice you pretended never existed, it says:
"You called me last night."

Just a moment.
"You said you missed me."