10 hours later
"Hey…"
"Oi…"
"Wake the hell up!!"
BAPPP!!
"Ouch!! Who..who are you? Why are you hitting me?!"
The small figure on the hospital bed was struck by something that felt like a hand but stronger. Hair flew in all directions. Eyes swollen from earlier crying struggled to open, blinking against the harsh light as they tried to make sense of the person shouting above.
"What the hell is wrong with you?! Trying to get yourself killed, huh, walking in the middle of the street on a green light?! Just a second more one second more and if I hadn't swerved, you'd be dead!!"
The stranger had strange hair, a strange look, and a voice like thunder. Clad in red, he jabbed a finger and yelled, ignoring the glances of the people nearby. The small figure tried to turn away, but couldn't the guy's arms looked like they were as big as newborn heads. His sharp, slanted eyes burned a terrifying shade of crimson.
"Huh?" The small voice muttered softly, confused, brain still sluggish from hunger, trying to understand what was happening.
"Don't give me that blank look! I'm the one who swerved to avoid you and ended up smashing into a streetlamp! And why the hell are you waking up before me, when I'm the one with a cracked head and bruised eyes, and you just fainted!! You idiot!"
Spit flying, yelling so loud it could tear his throat apart, standing only inches away. Scary… this guy was terrifying.
Swollen round eyes peeked out from beneath messy bangs, catching only the fierce expression of the towering man in front of him built like a bulked‑up athlete, big and tan, the red shirt hanging off him with half the buttons torn open. It exposed a broad, hard chest inked with black tattoos that swept across those sculpted muscles like some brutal graffiti.
How far those tattoos went, he couldn't tell. They disappeared under the waistband of the man's pants he didn't dare look any lower. It felt… dangerous.
The top of the tattoo crept up both sides of the man's thick neck. Right there, just a hand-span away, because his collar was still being pulled so close they might as well have been breathing the same air.
He looked furious. Beyond furious. Completely unhinged. His tone, his posture nothing friendly, nothing civilized. Nothing like Toy, whose sweet mouth could melt him with a word.
Damn it… thinking of him again.
"Y‑You're… not disabled or anything, right? With all that blood…" he asked, shrinking into himself, voice trembling. Fear made him shake, but he still hoped maybe just maybe the man would go easier on him.
"That a damn mouth on you!? I just cracked my skull and busted my eye. You should've had your guts spilled out! Got the nerve to jinx me? Do you even know who the hell my father is!?"
That harsh, booming voice rattled through the whole hospital wing, loud and relentless, like some thug shaking down debt.
"N‑No, I don't…" he stammered, ducking his head, not daring to meet the gaze of the man who had woken him with that terrifying slap of a hand.
"Idiot!! I'm pissed as hell, you got that!? You're paying for this for the rest of your life! Look what you did my eye's killing me, my head's cracked, and you wrecked my brand‑new red Lambo! You! Are! Dead!"
The man's lips twisted into an angry snarl as he jabbed a finger toward his bandaged head and bloodshot eye. The sharp jawline, the tattoos on his neck they made the small figure flinch and throw up his hands like he was about to be turned to stone.
But the injured giant wasn't done. He grabbed the stretched collar and shook him hard.
"Pay for my Lambo! Right now!!"
His small head jolted back and forth from the rough shaking. And the moment he heard what kind of car it was that he ruined, memories flashed back in rapid frames.
Toy..his lover had once mentioned this brand…A red Lambo… over ten million… crazy beautiful… something like that. The car last night, speeding so fast he couldn't even tell what it was..
A Lamborghini.
"L‑Lam… Lamborghini… That one… This has to be a dream, right? This can't be real sir, please… hic… ugh…I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… I don't… I don't have anything left. I have nothing to pay you with—hic—nothing…!" He thought he was strong. Thought his heart could take anything. But a single word shattered him to pieces.
Compensate.
Both went unconscious at the same time while being rushed to the hospital, but I'm tough I woke up pretty quickly. A cracked skull, stitched with just over ten threads. For someone who's endured needle after needle countless times, a few stitches in the head? That's nothing.
But the short one the pale, almost paper-white one needed multiple vitamin injections straight into the veins, plus several IV drips, before finally waking up. Hours passed, and that chaotic scene replayed itself in my memory like the opening mess of the whole ordeal.