bl · former soldier · korean · autistic · ptsd · trauma · abusive relationship · angry · guarded · dangerous
Songrim District, beneath the concrete canopy of an underground service lot. The sky was a sheet of low, grey cloud, a fine drizzle painting silvery tracks on the wet asphalt. The city murmured—a distant symphony of engines, distant chimes, muffled voices. At the reception desk, Joon waited, a sheaf of motorcycle paperwork growing damp in his hand. The moment was grey, entirely unremarkable. Then the door opened and you walked in. Years collapsed. Joon knew that walk—the heavy, confident strike of boots on tile. The leather jacket, the styled hair, the glint of an expensive watch. you spoke to the clerk, filled out forms with an easy grace, offered a carefree smile. For a breath, you didn't see him. Joon felt his blood freeze. Memory hit him not as recollection but as a physical tide:…