It had become a routine of sorts for James to disappear and then come back out of nowhere. Sometimes, it spooked you. You had gotten used to it by now.
Today, he looked like a dirty trash bag that had somehow learned how to walk.
His eyes were glazed with anger, and his clothes were covered in blood.
After coming back from work, this was definitely not what you had expected to see.
When James had told you that morning that he was taking the day off and would be working from home, you had assumed he meant exactly that.
Apparently, this was what "working from home" looked like for him.
"Oh, you're back home?" he asked when he noticed you sitting in the hall.
"Looks like you had a long day too," you said.
"Very long. It went into my guts," he mumbled mostly to himself.
You couldn't make out what he had actually said, so you simply went back to looking over your paperwork.
"Who did you kill today?" you asked casually.
"Ah... that Jinyeong Park."
He said it so casually that you almost didn't react.
Then he removed his knit sweater.
And there it was. The blood wasn't all someone else's.
It wasn't exactly a new sight, but that didn't mean you ever got used to seeing him like this.
"You killed Jinyeong Park because he tore through your chest?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.
"No. That bastard was killed because he was going to expose my goals."
James looked down at himself. Then he finally understood what you were getting at.
"This..." He gestured toward his injuries. "Tom Lee did this. Although it didn't land properly."
"Is there anyone left who didn't attack you today?" you asked.
"Oh..." James scoffed. "Kitae Kim. That dog doesn't know his place. If Changsu Oh hadn't thrown Reporter Kim at us, everything would've been settled then and there."
He looked increasingly irritated as he listed everything that had happened.
He had clearly had one hell of a day. Not that you particularly cared. He had brought this upon himself.
Before leaving for work that morning, he'd kissed you goodbye and told you today was going to be a big day for the hunt.
And now he was back looking as though he'd been dragged across the floor and beaten half to death.
Apparently, even James had his weak points.
"Weren't you going to hunt the Workers?" you asked. "Why does it sound like they hunted you instead?"
"That day isn't far away, though."
He said it while examining himself in the mirror.
"I'll prepare the bath for you. Did you get your injuries checked?"
"No. There's no need. I'm fine."
You walked over, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him toward the nearest chair.
"Don't bring your germs into the house," you muttered as you started cleaning the wounds around his abdomen.
When you were done, you noticed the blood around his ears too.
"Well..." you said. "This is the first time since Cheonliang that I've seen you like this."
James didn't say anything.
He wasn't incompetent. You knew that.
But the sadness in your eyes was impossible to hide, and your movements had become slower and more careful.
Somehow, that made him feel incompetent anyway.
"If it's too much work, you don't have to do it," James said.
There it was. The passive-aggressive attitude.
He was irritated. Very irritated. You could practically feel the anger radiating from him.
But that didn't mean you were going to let him take it out on you.
"Did I say it's too much work?" you asked. "Why are you making assumptions?"
That shut him up for a good minute.
But your comparison to Cheonliang had clearly gotten under his skin.
Hadn't he grown since then?
Or had underestimating Tom Lee today simply proved that he was still as cocky as ever?
Maybe you knew the answer. And maybe that was exactly what he didn't like.
"Next time, get yourself properly treated before coming home. It's not like I'm a doctor, and especially—"
You were dangerously close to saying something you knew would turn this into an even bigger argument.
I'm not your mother. I'm not going to keep cleaning up after you while you throw tantrums.
"And especially what?" James caught onto it immediately.
You continued cleaning the blood near his ear.
"No. Say it." His voice sharpened. "Why don't you also get your share of it out while you're at it?"
You finally looked at him.
"Just because everyone was an asshole to you today doesn't mean I will be too."
Your voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now.
"And I'm not a saint either, so don't be unnecessarily rude to me. I didn't do anything to warrant this behaviour."
You stood up and walked away.
You were right. You hadn't done anything to deserve it.
But that wasn't an excuse, and he knew it.
"Fuck it..." he muttered to himself.
Because, damn it, you were the only person who hadn't actually been out there trying to get him today.
And somehow, he had come home and dumped all of it on you.
His sweater was gone. His wounds were cleaned.
And yet he had somehow managed to make the one person waiting for him feel like another enemy.
When he finally came out after taking a shower, he didn't find you in the bedroom.
You weren't in the living room either. His first instinct was immediate.
His hand went for his phone.
He called you. No answer.
The call went to voicemail.
He searched the entire house. You were nowhere.
He asked the household staff. They told him you'd gone out. They didn't know where.
James stood there for a moment, phone still in his hand.
Should he call J and ask where you were?
Had he gone too far? Had he finally pushed you too far? Was he really that difficult to live with?
His mind was already at the brink of a breakdown.
And all he could think about was you.
He had been through hell today. All he had wanted was to come home.
And now he couldn't even find you.
All he could think of was...
Was this something that had been building for years?
Did it start with Cheonliang too?
The thought made his chest tighten.
He quickly got dressed, intending to go out and find you himself.
And just as he reached the door—
"Where are you going?" you asked.
"Got to fight someone else?"
You were empty-handed, and from your expression, he could tell you were still angry.
But before you could say anything else, he crossed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms.
He held you tightly. Far too tightly.
For a second, you wondered if he was unconsciously using his strength because your ribs felt like they were about to crack.
But then you felt his breathing... it was uneven.
You felt the way his arms tightened around you with every passing second.
This wasn't aggression. He was terrified.
Your hand instinctively came up to his hair, gently stroking it.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," you muttered. "You didn't even apologise."
He only held you tighter.
"Say sorry, James. This isn't a proper apology."
There was a pause. Then, softly—
You blinked. He buried his face against your neck.
"Wait. You're not James."
You tried to pull back enough to look at him.
"You apologised way too easily."
He didn't budge. He simply kept holding you.
It wasn't until later that night that you understood why.
"You thought I left," you said softly.
You cupped his face and tried to make him look at you.
He deliberately avoided your eyes.
"Misunderstanding happens," he muttered, already attempting to bring back his usual nonchalant attitude.
You smiled faintly. "And some misunderstandings are good."
His eyes flickered toward you.
"Because you've never held me this tightly before."
For once, James actually looked embarrassed.
"You notice everything, don't you? After we have sex, I always hold you close." He said.
"Yeah, but not with today's intensity."
You smiled genuinely this time and took his hand.
"I ain't going anywhere." You squeezed his fingers. "You're an asshole, but I love you."
You laughed softly. He looked exhausted. So you patted the space beside you.
He initially pretended not to hear you, reaching for his wine instead.
Then he glanced at you. Something in his expression softened.
He put the glass down and finally, he came over.
He sat beside you and rested his head against your shoulder.
You wrapped an arm around him.
His cheek rested against you, close enough for him to hear your heartbeat.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Until...
"You still mad at me?" James eventually asked.
You smiled. "I'll always remember this day."
His arms tightened around you again. "I'll make sure you will forget it."
You looked down at him. "No, I won't. "
"Because all this time, I used to think you'd be perfectly fine without me.
"You got the proof you're happy now," he murmured.
He pressed a soft kiss against your neck.
"More than enough proof."
Your fingers moved gently through his hair.
"Now you know how I feel every time you go out there to fight someone."
His voice was quieter now.
His eyes were already closing.
Maybe James never wanted to admit how terrifying it was to wonder whether he'd come home to you again.
Maybe he'd never tell you how badly the thought of losing you had shaken him tonight.
And maybe you didn't need him to.
You simply kept stroking his hair. His breathing gradually evened out.
The tension finally left his body.
For the first time all day, James looked peaceful.
You pressed another kiss to his forehead.
A faint smile touched his lips.
His arm remained wrapped around your waist even after he had fallen asleep, as though some part of him still needed the reassurance that you were there.
You let him sleep against you for as long as he needed.
Because for all the blood, anger, fights, and chaos that followed James everywhere...
Tonight, he had come home.
And you were still there 💌
