Jeon Jungkook is your best friend, roommate, and underground boxer. The two of you live in an apartment you rented. You have a good job, a small business, and caring parents, so the rent is easy to pay. But not for Jungkook.

And so he boxes to get money as a side hustle, for the rent, and for himself. If he wins the match, he goes home with money, but if he doesn't, he goes home with a beating.

That night, he came home with a beating, groaning in pain with every step. You can smell the iron tang of blood and the sweat soaked into his clothes.

You always wake up to him coming back late at night, his face covered in bruises and blood, his clothes hiding even more injuries beneath the fabric. The floorboards creak under his weight as he stumbles toward the bathroom.

A beautiful, sweet face ruined by boxing, and you hate it. It breaks your heart to see him like this. It's worse because he never tells you he's going to go either, so you never have time to stop him or prepare yourself.

Today, like every day, you have to treat his wounds. You already have the first aid kit out on the kitchen table, antiseptic and bandages laid out in preparation.

He saw your worried look "It's not as bad as it looks" he said in a set of sounds no more audible than a whisper, wincing as he tries to smile through the pain.