Chapter 2 — The Night That Shouldn’t Exist

Blood.

Ashin’s hands were covered in it.

Warm. Slippery. Relentless.

He pressed the bundled napkins harder against the stranger’s shoulder wound, heart racing like a jackhammer. He had no medical kit, no gloves, no proper tools—only desperation and a bag of steamed buns rolling sadly across the dirty ground.

“Hey! Stay with me!” he pleaded, leaning closer. “Don’t close your eyes. Seriously. I don’t know what to do if you die—”

“I told you…” the man murmured, voice unnervingly steady for someone bleeding out. “Leave.”

Ashin blinked. “You’re still on that? Dude, you’re dying, not offering Uber directions.”

The stranger didn’t respond.

His eyes were heavy now—still open, but dimming, like frost gathering on glass.

Ashin panicked harder.

“Okay, okay, um—hospital time!”

He grabbed the man’s arm and attempted to pull him up.

Didn’t budge.

The man was built like a marble statue. Heavy, solid, immovable. Ashin gritted his teeth and tried again, practically climbing onto him in an attempt to drag him upright.

The man hissed under his breath—not in pain, but in warning. “Don’t touch me so casually.”

Ashin froze, halfway wrapped around the man like an octopus.

He stared at the stranger.

The stranger stared back.

A silent standoff.

Then Ashin whispered, “Would you rather I casually let you bleed to death?”

Silence.

The man’s jaw twitched.

“…Fine.”

That one word—quietly surrendered—felt like a victory.

Ashin exhaled shakily. “Okay. On three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“—Three—oof!”

With every ounce of strength his noodle arms had, Ashin hauled the stranger upward. The man helped with minimal effort, standing with the dignity of a king even while soaked in blood.

Up close, Ashin finally saw his face clearly.

Strong jaw.

Cold eyes.

A presence so intense it made Ashin feel like he was standing in front of danger itself.

Yet…

There was something heartbreakingly lonely in those eyes.

No time to stare.

Ashin slung the man's good arm over his shoulders, nearly collapsing from the weight. “Okay! My house isn't far. Just hang on. Don’t die on me.”

“...Where are you taking me?” the man muttered as Ashin dragged him out of the alley.

“To safety.”

“I don’t go anywhere without my security detail.”

Ashin snorted. “Well, they’re not here. So tonight, your security detail is named Ashin Storm, and he charges zero dollars per hour, but maybe a thank you.”

The man—bleeding, bruised, barely standing—still had the audacity to lift an eyebrow.

“...No.”

Ashin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, figures.”

---

 RION POV's

Pathetic.

No—not the weaklings who had attacked him.

Not the blood spilling from his body.

Himself.

He—Rion Sky—being dragged by a nobody in a hoodie through filthy streets like some wounded animal.

His pride screamed.

But… so did his instincts.

He could barely remain conscious. His legs were losing strength first. His arm was numb. His vision blurred. His breathing—too shallow.

Unacceptable.

He should be dead by now.

But this… boy… refused to let him be.

“Hurry,” the boy grunted. “You’re heavy.”

Rion glanced down.

The boy was half his size. Dusty sneakers. Messy hair. Cheap plastic bag swinging from his wrist.

A nobody.

Yet somehow… fearless.

No one—no one—had ever dared touch Rion without permission. Not since he took control of his empire. Not since he buried emotions and raised walls. Even doctors asked permission before brushing his sleeve.

But this boy…

He held him like a responsibility he’d willingly chosen.

Ridiculous.

Rion should shove him away.

Should disappear before this stranger realized who he was.

Should never allow himself to be indebted.

Yet…

His body had already made the decision.

Leaning on this boy was the only reason he was still conscious.

---

They reached a shabby apartment complex.

Rusty stairs.

Dim hallway.

Peeling paint.

Ashin fumbled with keys, muttering, “Sorry, sorry—my place is kinda messy—don’t judge.”

Rion’s lip twitched.

Judge?

He could buy this building ten times. Demolish it and rebuild it in gold. Call it a closet.

But instead of mocking, he remained silent.

Words were beneath him.

Ashin finally pushed the door open.

“Welcome to Casa Storm!” he declared, pushing Rion inside. “Home of unmatched chaos and instant noodles.”

Rion stared.

A small living room with mismatched furniture. A couch with a cartoon blanket. Potted plants. Fairy lights. A TV slightly tilted.

It was… warm.

Lived in.

Human.

Rion’s chest tightened for a moment before he shoved the feeling down. Useless.

Ashin set him down on the couch gently, grabbing a first aid kit.

“Okay! Shirt off.”

Rion turned to him slowly.

Ashin blinked. “...For the wound. Not for fun. I mean unless you want it to be fun—NO, ignore that, I didn’t say that—okay, stop looking at me like that—”

Rion’s gaze was cold and unreadable.

“If you speak one more unnecessary word,” he said calmly, “I’ll reconsider bleeding to death.”

Ashin shut his mouth instantly.

“…Noted.”

He carefully reached for Rion’s coat and peeled it off. Blood had soaked through the fabric, sticky and dark. Ashin’s brows furrowed in focus.

He cleaned the wound, sanitized it, wrapped it in firm bandages. His hands were steady now—work mode activated.

Rion observed silently.

The boy’s earlier chaos had vanished.

Serious.

Focused.

Skilled.

Rion almost… respected it.

When Ashin finally finished, he sat back with a sigh of relief. “Okay. You’ll live. Probably. Assuming no internal bleeding. Or infection. Or rogue organ failure. But we’ll deal with that later.”

Rion stared.

Ashin smiled awkwardly. “Uh. I’m Ashin, by the way.”

Rion said nothing.

Name exchanges were pointless.

Ashin shrugged. “Okay. Silent type. Cool.”

He stood. “I’ll get you water. Don’t move.”

As Ashin walked away, Rion whispered quietly.

“...Rion.”

Ashin paused.

“Huh?”

Rion didn’t repeat himself.

Ashin blinked—then grinned.

“So you can talk normally.”

---

 ASHIN POV's

He brought water to the stranger—Rion—and watched him drink with dignified movements, as if even sipping water was a business meeting.

Ashin spoke softly. “You’re safe here.”

Rion looked at him.

A long, piercing stare.

It wasn’t suspicion.

It was… confusion.

As if the concept of someone choosing to help him didn’t compute.

Ashin smiled reassuringly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Wrong words.

Rion’s eyes darkened dangerously.

Ashin blinked.

“…Okay. You owe me something. I’ll take one smile as payment.”

Rion didn’t smile.

Didn’t even blink.

Ashin chuckled. “Tough crowd.”

He stood and stretched. “You can sleep here. I’ll take the floor.”

Rion’s voice finally returned.

“I don’t sleep in unfamiliar places.”

Ashin nodded. “Cool. Then don’t sleep. Pass out with dignity.”

The billionaire stared at him like he couldn’t tell if Ashin was stupid or fearless.

Then—something unexpected.

A faint exhale.

Not quite a sigh.

Not quite laughter.

Something in between.

Ashin grinned at his tiny victory.

---

Minutes passed.

Rion leaned back against the couch, eyes heavy.

Ashin watched from a distance.

It was strange.

This man radiated danger, power, and intimidation.

But right now…

He looked human.

Vulnerable, even.

Ashin didn’t know why, but he whispered softly into the quiet:

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”

He didn’t know if Rion heard.

But Rion’s eyes—half-closed—softened almost imperceptibly.

For the first time in years…

He let himself sleep.

---

Chapter 2 — End

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