— I'll get you out of here, okay?
Kang was still holding my wrists, like he could anchor my body that kept wanting to drift away. I was shaking. Not from the cold. It was something else. A quiet terror, lodged deep in my throat.
— I'll get you out, okay? — he said again, low and calm. I barely heard it, didn't reply. But his voice was close, direct. Like he was both asking permission and giving an order.
I nodded. Or maybe I didn't. I just let him lead me out, my steps short, my head pounding. My feet stumbled, but he never let go. Never complained.
The stairs, the elevator, everything blurred together.
Kang didn't say much on the way. Just the essentials.
— Lean here.
In the garage, he sat me in the passenger seat of my own car. Did everything automatically, without fuss, without staring too long. Like he didn't want to scare me. And it worked. Almost.
— We're almost there. — Deep breaths.
I couldn't look at him for more than three seconds. Part of me wanted to run. And another part... wanted to stay.
He asked for the key and grabbed it from the glovebox.
Unlocked the door to my house like he'd done it a thousand times before, guiding me to the couch. My knees gave out on their own, my body softer than I ever remembered it being.
He looked at me for a second, then said:
— I'll get you some water. Then a blanket. If you let me, I'll check your temperature too, okay?
He vanished into the kitchen before I could even process that.
Came back with the glass and held it out slowly, placing it gently in my hand, barely touching me.
— Here. It's water.
I took it. My hands still trembled a bit. I drank a sip, my throat scratching on the way down.
I turned my head toward him.
The silence between us wasn't comfortable. It was heavy.
He said he'd check my temperature, and he did.
— A hundred and one point three.
I sighed, feeling the weight in my skull. How did I crash this fast?
I looked at him, but he just murmured:
— I'll grab your meds.
He returned quickly.
— I'm putting this cold cloth on your head. Take the meds. I'm not asking.
I let out a soft laugh.
— Idiot.
I said it, but didn't stop him. Didn't push back.
And only then I looked at him, confused.
— Why do you keep... announcing everything you're doing?
Kang paused. Didn't smile. Didn't look away. Just said:
— Your eyes... you're scared of me right now.
I didn't answer. Just stared at the ceiling, tense. A second of uncomfortable silence.
He was right. I was scared.
— I'm not him. — Kang said.
That hit like a punch. Made me forget the water in my hand.
— It's not about you. — I snapped.
Silence.
He looked at me like he was trying to solve a very old puzzle. Like he recognized something in my broken pieces.
He didn't push. But his eyes said everything.
Like he was relieved to know I knew it wasn't about him.
No questions. No pressure. Just grabbed the blanket from the corner of the couch and laid it over my legs. Gently, like any wrong move might set me off again.
— Thanks, Kang. — I said, finally meeting his gaze. — You can go now.
— You're kidding? — Kang scoffed, half-laughing. — I'm not going anywhere. What if you have another episode?
— I can handle myself.
— Let me stay.
I took a while to respond. Something clenched in my chest.
— You people never stay. — It slipped out. But it was too late to take it back.
Kang didn't respond right away.
Just stood there, watching me.
— But I'm staying. I'm not leaving you like this.
I looked away. Half skeptical, half... grateful. Kang was looking at the floor, like he didn't want to push anything.
— You really are an idiot, you know that?
He looked up, brow furrowed. His reply:
— An elite idiot, then. I brought you water, tolerated your sarcasm, and wiped your sweaty forehead. That should count for something.
— What do you want from this?
— Nothing. I just... don't need a reason.
I laughed. Of course he had a reason.
— You guys always want something.
— I'm not them. I'm Kang...
I laughed again. I could tell he skipped the last name on purpose.
I settled into the couch. My body felt too heavy.
I was exhausted.
— Do what you want then. Just... don't be here in the morning.
— Go to sleep. I'm more stubborn than you.
I closed my eyes. Didn't reply. But for the first time, I didn't want to run.
(...)
The night was cold. Kang moved quietly, grabbed a blanket from Johan's closet, and came back to drape it over the older man. All in silence.
Johan was breathing easier, hands near his face, hair falling over his forehead.
Kang whispered, only to himself:
— I don't need you to love me. I just want you to feel whole.
He turned off the light, leaving only the hallway lamp on.
And Johan, even with his eyes closed, seemed to let out a softer breath. Like maybe... just maybe... he believed he was safe.
The night dragged on in that heavy silence that only exists between three and four in the morning.
Johan woke slowly, his body still warm but lighter. The lamp still on, soft. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was, or why everything felt so... calm.
But what really stood out was the heavier blanket. He definitely hadn't grabbed that.
He turned his head slowly. And saw.
Kang.
Asleep in the chair beside him.
He had a blanket tossed over his lap, body slumped in clear discomfort, head leaning to the side. Shirt wrinkled, hair messy. None of that usual confident air he carried. Just a guy too big, trying too hard to be shelter.
Johan stared at him for long seconds.
And it hurt.
More than it should.
He didn't leave, didn't try anything... he just stayed. Like it made sense. Like staying was natural. Like he wasn't another Mingell.
"But he is. Son of that bastard Kemun. Heir to everything I hated, everything that broke me. And still, he stayed. Took care of me. Gave me water, lowered my fever, spoke gently, like I was cracked glass."
"Why does this get to me?"
"I should know better. I've seen men like him before. Sweet until the bed. Tender until the orgasm. Caring until you let your guard down and become dead weight to be thrown away. And then they vanish. They all vanish. Always vanish."
"But he's still here."
Johan thought about kicking him out. Saying thanks and cutting it clean. Like he always did. Like he learned to do.
But his eyes stayed locked on that man, on someone who seemed more worried about the Hiddenline CEO falling apart than about his own pride.
Johan wanted to reach out. To pull him close. But his pride wasn't ready. All he could do was tug the blanket up to his chin and close his eyes again.
But before sleep came, half-febrile, half-aware, he thought:
"Maybe... just maybe... he really will stay."