The room was barely big enough for one person—let alone two. A narrow, creaky bed sat in the corner, pressed up against a cracked window that let in a thin sliver of moonlight. Clothes hung from rusty nails in the wall, and the floor was littered with things Won had long stopped bothering to clean up.

Won sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the boy sleeping beside him.

"This place isn’t meant for two people," 

he thought bitterly. 

"Hell, it barely fits me."

His hand rose to the back of his neck, rubbing the tension that had settled there hours ago.

"What the hell am I doing…?"

Michael stirred slightly under the thin blanket, whimpering softly in his sleep. Won turned his head, watching him. The boy’s face was peaceful—completely untouched by the chaos that still swirled inside Won’s chest.

"Did I really think I was mature enough to steal a kid? I’m only sixteen… He doesn’t deserve this."

He looked away, eyes unfocused, brow furrowed. The silence in the room pressed on him like a weight.

"Why did I take him? What if the police come looking for me too? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

He clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching.

"This was reckless. Stupid." He thought.

But then, his thoughts were pierced by the memory—vivid and raw.

Michael, standing there. Blood on his hands. His eyes wide with terror, pleading silently for someone—anyone—to not leave him behind.

That moment… it had broken something in Won. Or maybe it awakened something. Either way, walking away had never really been an option.

Won sighed, dragging a hand through his messy black hair.

What’s done is done. No turning back now.

Won let out a quiet breath as he stepped closer to the bed. Michael shifted slightly in his sleep, face buried in the thin pillow. With care, Won pulled the blanket higher, tucking it gently around the boy’s small shoulders. Then, with one last glance, he turned away.

The room’s air felt stifling. He needed to think.

Stepping outside into the cool night air, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. The street was quiet, wrapped in darkness, only the occasional flicker of a distant streetlamp offering any light. Everything felt still. Too still.

Won thought.

An innocent kid caught in something he doesn’t understand."

His jaw tightened.

"But taking him… Now I’ve made things worse—for both of us."

He rubbed his arms, trying to fight off the chill that had little to do with the temperature. His thoughts swirled in a storm of regret and confusion, and still—beneath it all—a silent resolve.

Eventually, he stepped back inside, casting a glance at the tiny figure curled up under the thin blanket. Michael hadn’t moved.

"I need to figure something out… fast."

---

The Next Morning

Light streamed softly through the cracked window, painting long beams across the floor. Dust floated in the air, dancing in the golden glow.

Michael stirred.

A small hand clutched at the blanket as his body shifted. His brow furrowed, lashes fluttering open slowly.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Confusion settled across his face as he looked around the unfamiliar room. His breathing quickened.

“Mom…?”

 he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached his own ears.

Then he sat up abruptly, panic overtaking the haze of sleep. His gaze darted across the room, searching for something—anything—familiar.

But there was nothing.

Just cracked walls. A drafty window. And the overwhelming sense that nothing would ever be the same again.

Won stirred from his uncomfortable position on the floor, his back pressed against the wall near the bed. His neck ached from dozing off in such a cramped space, but he jolted awake the moment he heard soft rustling from the mattress.

His gaze met Michael’s.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.

The boy flinched, startled.

 “Wh-Where am I?”

 he whispered, eyes wide as they darted around the unfamiliar room.

Won shifted closer and offered a faint, reassuring smile. 

“Safe. That’s all you need to worry about right now.”

But Michael wasn’t reassured. His small arms wrapped tightly around his own body as if trying to hold himself together.

“I want to go home…” he murmured, his voice cracking.

Won’s smile faltered. He inhaled slowly, keeping his voice steady.

 “You can’t,” 

he said, standing and folding his arms across his chest

. “Not yet.”

Michael looked up at him, his lower lip trembling. 

“Why?”

Won hesitated. The truth was harsh, but sugarcoating it wouldn’t help either of them.

 “Because they did something bad…” he said at last, voice low. “And you saw it.”

A flicker of memory crossed Michael’s eyes—dark, distorted, and terrifying. Blood. His parents’ lifeless bodies. The floor soaked red.

He looked down, silent. Tears welled up again, unspilled but ever-present.

Won crouched beside him, placing a firm, steady hand on his trembling shoulder. 

“But I’ll protect you,” he said gently. 

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Michael didn’t speak. He just trembled.

Won stood again, brushing his disheveled hair from his face.

 “You hungry?” he asked.

Michael didn’t answer, but his stomach did—grumbling loudly into the silence.

Won gave a tired chuckle under his breath and walked toward a narrow counter in the corner of the room. He opened the creaky old cabinet and frowned at the meager contents: a few instant noodles and a half-eaten loaf of bread.

Not exactly a five-star breakfast, he thought grimly.

He grabbed a cup of ramen and set some water to boil in the tiny electric kettle. 

“This’ll have to do,” he said aloud.

Behind him, Michael remained on the bed, arms curled tightly around his knees, eyes following Won’s every movement.

Once the water was ready, Won knelt beside him again and held out the steaming cup with care. 

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Michael reached out with both hands and took it slowly.

 “Thank you…” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Won sat beside him with a soft sigh, resting his arms across his knees. The room settled into a quiet stillness—uneasy, uncertain, but not unkind.

Just two broken kids, sitting in a cramped room, trying to figure out what came next.

---

Michael ate in silence, the steam from the noodles curling gently upward, fogging the space between them. Won watched him from the corner of his eye—not staring, just... making sure. The boy’s hands were still trembling, and his eyes, though dry for now, held the kind of sorrow that no child should ever have to carry.

Won didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good with kids. Hell, he wasn’t good with anyone. But there was something about Michael that dug under his skin. Something fragile and haunting. Like a ghost who hadn’t yet figured out he was dead.

“You can sleep as long as you want today,” Won said softly, breaking the silence. “You don’t have to do anything. Just rest.”

Michael gave a tiny nod but said nothing.

Won leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly. The room smelled faintly of damp wood and cheap ramen. Outside, the city was just beginning to stir—distant honks, dogs barking, the metallic hum of life continuing as if nothing had happened. As if two lives hadn’t just unraveled inside a single night.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at the tiny figure on the bed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted aloud.

Michael looked up at him, startled. Not because the words were harsh—but because they were honest.

Won offered a tired smile.

 “I just… couldn’t leave you there. That’s all.”

The boy stared for a long moment before slowly returning to his food, slurping quietly. His shoulders still shook sometimes, and every now and then, he paused like he’d forgotten how to eat altogether.

Won closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the peeling paint of the wall. He didn’t know how long this would last. Didn’t know if the police would come knocking, or if someone would track them down. He didn’t have a plan. No backup. No safehouse. Just a cramped room, a scared kid, and a heart full of regrets.

But for now, at least, Michael was safe. That had to count for something.

Later, after Michael had finished eating and curled up again beneath the thin blanket, Won sat beside him for a while—silent, unmoving.

The boy’s breathing evened out eventually, soft and steady.

Won looked down at him, the ghost of something almost like hope flickering in his chest.

“I’ll figure it out,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but I will.”

He reached down and gently brushed Michael’s bangs from his forehead.

“You’re not going back there. Ever.”

The room settled into stillness again.

Won stayed there until he heard nothing but the sound of the boy’s sleep and the far-off buzz of the world outside. Then he stood, walked quietly to the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

The next morning would come. And with it, all the uncertainty in the world.

But for tonight, the boy was safe.

And that was enough.