The sound of your window sliding open jolted you awake, and you stealthily turned toward it before silently sighing in relief to see that it was just your boyfriend.  Throwing back the covers, you rushed over to where he was climbing in the window, a scold ready on your tongue. “Yah, Sehunie! What are you doing here in the middle of the night?!”  His soft chuckle reached your ears before he turned to envelop you in his usual all-encompassing hug. The roughness of his black ripped jeans chafed through the soft cotton of your pajamas, but you ignored it, snuggling into his broad chest to rub your cheek against the comfortable, worn flannel of his shirt, the warm fragrant softness of another one of his ubiquitous black tees.  Sliding your arms between his shirt and his soft black leather jacket, you clasped your hands at the small of his back, and squeezed.

A sharp hiss made you drop your arms, take a step back.  Sehun’s face was still in shadow, so you reached up, gently manoeuvred his chin until the moonlight showed you exactly what you dreaded.  A garish red slash cut through his eyebrow and the top of his cheekbone--narrowly missing his eye--along with bloody scrapes on his cheekbone and jaw, a large scab beside his mouth, and another thin slash across the bridge of his nose.  

Anger made your blood run cold as iron, and you took a step back, lifted his shirt to expose his lean torso, almost cheerfully decorated with a number of fresh bruises and slashes, along with others in various stages of healing.  You didn’t realize that you were shaking in fury until Sehun rested large, comforting hands on your shoulders.  

“You’re shivering,” he whispered, reaching up to take off his jacket and wrap you in its softness.  In his smell. He always smelled clean--like soap and fabric softener--but tonight darker scents cut throu