The irony wasn't lost on Jae-woo. He'd wanted to be left alone, practically begged for it. Now, with the solitude he'd craved, his mind kept pulling him back to memories he'd rather forget.

He clenched his fists, pissed off at his own stupid brain that always acting on its own. What the hell is wrong with me? Why was he even thinking about Ethan when it came to Minhoo? Ethan had been someone he trusted, someone he actually cared about. And look where that got him—a knife in the back. But Minhoo... Minhoo was different.

He had to be.

"Damn it," Jae-woo muttered, rubbing his forehead as if he could scrub away the thoughts along with the memories as well.

He'd learned the hard way that trust was a loaded gun, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down and jump into a freaking roulette again. Ethan's betrayal had left a scar that never quite healed, turning him into the fearful person he was now. Those walls he'd built around his heart were thick and high, and he had swore not to let anyone crash them down again.

And yet... here he was, comparing Ethan to Minhoo. Great. Just great.

Comparison, he thought with a bitter chuckle, is a real asshole.

The longer Minhoo stayed away, the more of a mess Jae-woo became. His apartment started to feel like a prison—actually it had always been—the silence deafening. Every tiny sound echoed loudly in his mind, making the place feel too small for his own sorrow, for his own broken heart that spilling hurt and sadness all over the place.

He couldn't stop pacing, too restless to sit still. The quiet gave him way too much time to think, and thinking meant remembering. And those memories? They were a special kind of hell. No matter where he turned, he saw traces of Ethan, like ghosts of a past he couldn't escape.

Jae-woo then found himself standing in the crappy kitchen more than once, staring at the counter where he and Ethan used to sit, drinking coffee, laughing, talking. His mind kept replaying those moments, the inside jokes, the easy banter, and it made his blood boil. Why couldn't he just let it go? Why did his mind keep dragging him back to that sink?

After what felt like an eternity of moping around, Jae-woo finally mustered the guts to show his face at his own coffee shop again. Since Minhoo's late-night visit, he'd been avoiding going out like the plague—including that place—which had nearly driven Beth and Gordon to a full-blown meltdown of worry. He figured throwing himself back into work might help. Spoiler alert: it was the worst idea ever.

Minhoo had this annoying way of being everywhere without actually being anywhere. Jae-woo often forgot the guy was the most famous hunter around these days. You couldn't escape him—his face was plastered on posters, splashed across magazines, slapped on every kind of merchandise, and even staring back at you from little dolls. "Maddening" didn't even begin to cover it. Stepping outside had become a nightmare, so he just didn't.

Also, sleep was a lost cause. Nightmares had him waking up in a cold sweat, and food? Just forget it. His stomach was too twisted up in knots to handle anything solid.

By the fourth night, he was a wreck, sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the city lights outside. They flickered in the distance, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to have settled inside him.

Then came the knock on the door, loud and unexpected, cutting through the silence like a gunshot. Jae-woo's heart jumped into his throat, and before he knew it, he was racing to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary.

And there stood Minhoo, cool as ever, backlit by the corridor light—the exact splitting image from that very night.

Minhoo didn't say a word. He just looked at Jae-woo with that infuriatingly calm expression, then opened his arms in a gesture that was as unexpected as it was unsettling. The white-haired man knew exactly what he was doing—he always did. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Jae-woo froze, his mind spinning. Of all the things he expected, a hug was definitely not one of them. Anger, confusion, and a weird, unsettling need all swirled together inside him, leaving him feeling more unbalanced than ever.

"Don't," Jae-woo managed to rasp out. "Don't... don't do this."

But Minhoo didn't move. He just stood there, arms still open, his patience as endless as ever.

Jae-woo's resolve wavered, his voice breaking as he tried again. "Don't make this harder. Please."

Ethan's betrayal flashed through his mind like a neon sign, reminding him of what happened the last time he let someone getting too close. "I can't do this again," he said, his voice choked out. "Please... just go."

Each second felt like an eternity, the silence between them thick enough to cut. Jae-woo's body screamed at him to shut the door, to push Minhoo away, to do anything but give in. But despite himself, he hesitated.

Minhoo's gaze didn't waver, silently waiting for Jae-woo to make a choice. The longer they stood there, the more Jae-woo's defenses crumbled, the memories and the solitude and the aching loneliness chipping away at his resistance.

And then, almost against his will, he found himself taking a few shaky steps forward.

Minhoo didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He just wrapped his arms around Jae-woo, pulling him into an embrace that was both firm and gentle.

As their bodies touched, the last of Jae-woo's self-conflict shattered. The warmth, the comfort, it was all too much. He buried his face in the crook of Minhoo's neck, his breath hitching as the emotions he'd kept bottled up for days finally began to spill over.

He trembled in the man's arms, finally allowing himself to let go, to feel, to hurt.

Minhoo pulled Jae-woo closer, his hand gently running through his messy red hair. "Come with me," he murmured softly, contradicting with his—still as always—calm expression. "You'll never have to be alone again."

Jae-woo's felt himself losing at those words. The thought of not being left alone again was almost too good to be true. Desperation laced his voice as he asked, "Promise me. Promise you won't leave, that you'll stay by my side."

"I won't leave," Minhoo assured him, his hand lifting to cup Jae-woo's face, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. "All you have to do is follow my lead, okay? Deal?"

Jae-woo searched Minho's eyes, looking for any sign that he might be lying or holding back. But there was nothing—just the same genuine honesty the man always posed.

Slowly, he nodded, his need for someone to stay with him outweighing any reservations he might have had. "Deal," he whispered, his voice raspy and fragile. "I'll do whatever you want. Just don't leave me."

"I'm heading into the Banshee in a few days," Minhoo said in a lighter tone, still holding Jae-woo close. "Join me?"

Jae-woo's muscles tensed at the mention of the Banshee. The idea of getting back inside a dungeon was beyond terrifying. But the thought of Minho going in alone was even worse. The fear of losing him, of being abandoned all over again, was too much to bear. After a brief pause, he muttered in a resigned tone, "I'll be there with you."

"Good," Minhoo whispered into his ear, his fingers threading through Jae-woo's hair like he was rewarding him. "Let's get you out of here." The man's eyes flickered around the drab apartment before he added, "You're staying with me from now on."

Jae-woo couldn't quite remember when he'd finally left his dingy apartment in that run-down complex, but suddenly there he was, sitting in the passenger seat of Minho's car, his mind buzzing with questions he didn't dare ask.

What kind of place did Minho live in? Was it some kind of mansion? A penthouse, maybe? And where would he sleep? Guest room? Or was there some other arrangement Minho had in mind?

He tried to keep his cool, but the uncertainty was gnawing at him as they drove toward Minho's place.

The car ride was mostly quiet, with only the low hum of the engine filling the silence. Jae-woo sat there, doing his best to hide the mix of nerves and vulnerability he'd shown earlier. He stared out the window, watching the city lights blur by, trying to ignore the whirlwind of questions swirling around in his head.

When they finally pulled up to Minho's house, Jae-woo couldn't help but be a little shocked. He'd been mentally preparing himself for some grand, flashy mansion, something that screamed, I'm an S-rank hunter! Instead, what he got was a normal, one-story suburban home.

The fear and anxiety that had been gripping him loosened a bit, replaced by a healthy dose of confusion. "This is your house?" he asked, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.

"Yep," Minho replied as he opened the door for him. "Too ordinary for your taste?" There was a rare hint of playfulness in his tone, a subtle dig at Jae-woo's own less-than-stellar apartment.

Jae-woo flushed, caught off guard by the unexpected tease. He stepped out of the car, trying to play it cool. "I wasn't expecting something so... normal," he muttered, sounding a bit defensive.

He looked back at the house, taking in its simple, no-frills exterior. "I just didn't peg you for the suburban type," he added, with a slight edge of challenge in his voice.

"Not really my thing," Minho stated as a matter of fact as he walked toward the door. "But it's a lot harder for people to find me here." And that made sense. Being an S-rank hunter came with a lot of attention, and not all of it was the good kind. Hiding in plain sight was a smart move.

Jae-woo followed him, nodding slowly as he mulled over what Minho had said.

When they reached the door, Minho unlocked it and held it open, gesturing for Jae-woo to step inside.

Jae-woo walked in, his eyes quickly scanning the place. The inside was just as understated as the outside. The living room was cozy, with a simple couch, a couple of armchairs, and a coffee table in the middle. There were a few framed photos on the walls showing Minho in all his S-rank glory, and a couple of potted plants added a bit of life to the room.

As he ventured further in, his boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor, Jae-woo couldn't help but notice how clean everything was—a stark contrast to the emptiness he usually lived in. The place had a warmth to it, with soft lighting and a faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla hanging in the air. It felt... inviting, like a home, not the anxiety-ridden mess he was used to.

Minho led him to a room that looked like it had been set up specifically for him. It was spacious, with a bed, a closet, a desk, a TV, and even a small balcony with a tea table.

"Like it?" Minho asked, stepping inside with him.

Jae-woo's eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and uncertainty as he took in the room. It had everything he could need—probably more than he'd ever allowed himself to have.

"It's..." He started, his voice cracking slightly. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool. "...big, and the view's not bad."

Jae-woo glanced back at Minho, the indifferent facade he'd been clinging to slipping for just a moment, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability before he quickly shoved it back down.

Minho moved closer, gently resting his hand on Jae-woo's shoulder. "This is yours now," he murmured, casually pressing a soft kiss to Jae-woo's temple.

The unexpected tenderness caught Jae-woo completely off guard. His breath hitched as Minho's lips brushed against his skin. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he echoed, "Mine..." The word felt foreign on his tongue but not entirely unwelcome.

He leaned into the embrace ever so slightly, acutely aware of just how close the white-haired man was.

Minho slowly pulled away after a few seconds, heading toward the door. "Stay here. I'll go draw you a bath," he said calmly before slipping out of the room.

Once the white-haired man left, Jae-woo was alone in the room, the silence almost mocking him.

He wandered over to the bed and sat down on the edge, feeling the unfamiliar plushness beneath him. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. Then, all at once, the weight of the past few days—and years—hit him like a freight train.

His shoulders slumped, and he buried his face in his hands, a shaky breath escaping his lips. His eyes began to sting, the threat of tears creeping up on him—tears he hadn't let himself shed in who knows how long.

This wasn't the tough, independent elite hunter he used to be. No, this was a man who'd been chewed up and spit out by betrayal and guilt, left to pick up whatever pieces remained.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, the silence so thick it was almost suffocating. He tried—really tried—to calm his racing thoughts, to get a grip on the emotions that were threatening to pull him under. But the more he fought them, the more they clawed their way to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled them away from his face, clenching them into fists in his lap. It took every ounce of his remaining strength not to completely fall apart, even though it felt like he was teetering right on the edge.

Jae-woo then heard footsteps approaching the room, and his whole body tensed up. Instinctively, he tried to slap on that indifferent mask he'd worn so well, but it felt like trying to patch a sinking ship—too many cracks, too many holes.

The door creaked open, and there stood Minho.

Jae-woo wanted to look away, to keep up the façade, but the burning in his eyes and the slight tremble in his hands gave him away and he knew Minhoo could see right through him.

But the man didn't say anything right away. Instead, he crouched down in front of Jae-woo, close enough to see how hard the redhead was trying not to fall apart. Minho knew better than to push.

"Do you want to take the bath now or later?" he asked, his tone calm, like they were just talking about what to eat for dinner.

Jae-woo swallowed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Maybe later," he mumbled, avoiding Minho's eyes. He didn't trust himself to say much more without cracking.

He was relieved that Minho didn't pry, didn't push for answers. The idea of a bath sounded nice—letting warm water wash away the grime of the past few days—but he couldn't handle it just yet.

Later.

A little bit later.