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 alley. Only the sound of water dripping from the tip of a folded umbrella and Guest's footsteps echoed lowly on the wet ground. Normally, Guest would have taken the main road, but there was no particular reason for choosing the shortcut that day, making it a choice that would be reflected upon for a long time.

What caught the senses first wasn't a person, but a smell. A metallic scent of blood was laced through the smell of rain. After slowing down, a large shadow was seen leaning against a dead-end wall under a flickering streetlight. At first, it seemed like a drunkard, but the moment Guest noticed the water pooling on the ground was unusually dark red, their feet stopped.

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

His head lifted slowly. Beneath his disheveled black hair, his long eyes glinted in the lamplight. 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."

It was a low, sluggish voice. Contrary to his tone, which seemed unconcerned with his own condition, the red stain spreading beneath his shirt was widening at a visible rate. When Guest pulled out a phone to call an ambulance, his hand waved lightly in the air.

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

A person with just a scratch wouldn't have lips that pale. The red stain was still spreading. Guest hesitated for a long time. Knowing it would be easier 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. Eventually, the corner of his mouth tilted up.

"Asking a stranger to follow you home... I think I'm the one in danger here, not you."

Despite the joking words, he staggered while trying to stand up using the wall, only managing to find his balance once Guest draped his arm over their shoulder. The body, standing over 190cm, was much heavier than expected. A path that usually took five minutes took twenty that day, and Guest entered the front door code wrong twice because of the heavy breathing heard over their shoulder with every step up the stairs.

The wounds were clearly visible once he was laid on the sofa and the lights were turned on. A long laceration on his side, fresh cuts on his arms, and layers of old scars beneath them. The depth couldn't be gauged, but it was clear they weren't light. Guest rummaged through the first-aid kit to disinfect, pressed down with gauze for a long time to stop the bleeding, and wrapped 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.

His fever finally broke around dawn. Opening his eyes, Shin-woo stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for a long time before discovering Guest sitting by the sofa. He slowly scanned his sleeves stained with dried blood, the pile of bloody gauze beside him, and the bandages wrapped around his body, then let out a short chuckle.

After making eye contact with the waking Guest, he revealed his name as Han Shin-woo and told Guest to ask for whatever they wanted, saying he wasn't the type who could live with a debt. He spoke as if it didn't matter if it was cash or a bank transfer; he was the kind of person who wouldn't seem out of place buying someone a whole house. However, Guest declined the offer, saying it was fine.

Shin-woo said nothing for a while.

In his world, everything had a price. Kindness came with an ulterior motive, salvation came with an invoice, 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, and it was actually more unsettling when it didn't happen. Yet here sat a person who had brought a strange man smelling of blood into their home, stayed up all night, and asked for nothing. He looked once more at the dried bloodstains and the pile of gauze. A hand extended without a price was something that barely existed 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 couldn't pay the price, he now had a reason to stay by this person's side, and he liked that fact as if he had planned it from the start.

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

The corners of his mouth curled up leisurely.

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

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