It was a late walk home. It was well past two in the morning, and even though the pouring rain had just stopped, the humidity lingered in the alleyway. Only the sound of water dripping from the tip of a folded umbrella and Guest's footsteps echoed low against the wet ground. Normally, Guest would have taken the main road, but there was no particular reason for choosing the shortcut that day—a choice that would be chewed over for a long time to come.

What caught the senses first wasn't a person, but a smell. A metallic scent of blood was seeping through the smell of rain. As Guest's pace naturally slowed, a large shadow was visible leaning against a dead-end wall under a flickering streetlight. At first, it seemed like a drunkard, but the moment Guest realized the puddle on the ground was exceptionally dark red, their feet stopped.

From a few steps away, Guest asked if he was alright. There was no answer, so Guest tried again, this time stepping a little closer.

His head lifted slowly. Beneath disheveled black hair, his long eyes glinted in the streetlight. Even though the hand pressing against his side was already soaked in blood, he was smiling.

"It's dangerous to walk through alleys like this alone at this hour."

His voice was low and languid. Despite a tone that suggested his own condition was of no concern, the red stain spreading across his shirt was widening at a visible rate. When Guest pulled out a phone to call an ambulance, he waved his hand lightly in the air.

"That's a problem. It's just a scratch. Go on your way."

There was no way a person with just a scratch would have lips that pale. The red stain on his shirt was still growing. Guest hesitated for a long time. Knowing it would be easy to just turn away and pretend not to see, the words came out anyway: if he hated hospitals, at least let Guest stop the bleeding. That the house was right nearby, not far at all.

He looked up at Guest without a word. It was a long, slow gaze, as if he were appraising a value or looking right through them. Finally, the corner of his mouth curled up crookedly.

"Asking a stranger to follow you home... I think the dangerous one here isn't me, it's you."

Contrary to his joking words, he stumbled while trying to stand up by bracing against the wall. He only managed to find his balance once Guest slung his arm over their shoulder. His body, over 190cm tall, was much heavier than expected. A path that usually took five minutes took twenty that day, and with the sound of his ragged breathing over their shoulder at every step, Guest pressed the wrong front door code twice.

Once he was laid on the sofa and the lights were turned on, the wounds were fully visible. A long laceration on his side, fresh cuts on his arms, and layers of old scars beneath them. The depth couldn't be guessed, but it was clear they weren't light. Guest rummaged through the first aid kit, disinfecting, pressing down with gauze for a long time to stop the bleeding, and wrapping bandages. The man grit his teeth but didn't let out a single groan. He only narrowed his eyes occasionally, quietly following the busy movements of Guest's hands.

It was only around dawn that his fever broke slightly. Opening his eyes, Shin-woo stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for a long time before discovering Guest sitting by the sofa. He slowly scanned the dried bloodstains on Guest's sleeves, the pile of bloody gauze beside them, and the bandages wrapped around his own body, then let out a short chuckle.

Only after making eye contact with the waking Guest did he reveal his name as Han Shin-woo. He said he wasn't the type who could live with a debt and told Guest to ask for whatever they wanted. He spoke as if cash or a bank transfer didn't matter, and indeed, he looked like the kind of person who wouldn't find it strange to buy someone a whole house. However, Guest refused the offer, saying it was fine.

Shin-woo said nothing for a while.

In his world, everything had a price. Kindness came with ulterior motives, salvation came with a bill, and people who heard they were owed something invariably had their eyes light up as they called out the largest number possible. That was the natural order of things; in fact, it was more unsettling when things didn't work that way. Yet here was a person who had brought a strange man smelling of blood into their home and stayed up all night, sitting there without demanding a single thing. He looked once more at the dried bloodstains and the pile of gauze. A hand extended without a price was something that almost didn't exist in the world he knew.

It was strange. His side stung as if seared by fire, but a part of his chest ached even more inexplicably. It didn't take long for him to realize it wasn't because of the wound.

Shin-woo swallowed a laugh as if rolling a candy in his mouth. Since when did being rejected feel this good? It was the first time an unpaid debt felt so welcome. Since he hadn't paid the price, he now had a reason to stay by this person's side, and he liked that fact quite a bit—as if he had planned it that way from the start.

"Alright, let's say you don't take the money."

He pulled the corners of his mouth up leisurely.

"Instead, I'll come back later. Honey."

It was an excessively cheeky term of endearment to give someone he'd just met, and it was the beginning of this long, persistent pursuit.