Chapter Text
Hyunjin sat anxiously in the principal’s office as the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. It was only the first week of his senior year, and somehow, he had already managed to get himself expelled before the first period had even begun.
It was stupid, really—one of those moments where his patience ran thin, where something small tipped him over the edge, and his temper took over before he could stop it. That had always been his problem. Anger came too quickly, burned too hot, and left nothing but damage in its wake. It wasn’t new. It never had been. Hyunjin had been known for his anger for as long as he could remember, something volatile and unpredictable simmering just beneath his skin.
It started when he was eight, back when the house was never quiet—when every night was filled with shouting, doors slamming, and things breaking that couldn’t always be replaced.
His father was… cruel didn’t even begin to cover it. Strict, abusive, controlling, manipulative—every awful trait a person could possess wrapped into one man who ruled the house like it was something he owned rather than something he built.
And his mother… she endured him. Far more than anyone ever should, let alone a spouse. She stayed, took it, survived it, like leaving had never been an option to begin with.
The story Hyunjin had been told was simple enough: it was an arranged marriage. No love, no devotion—just obligation, loyalty bound by contracts and a prenuptial agreement that probably mattered more than either of them ever did to each other. It explained everything, in a way that made it worse. The constant fighting, the quiet resentment that festered into something uglier, the infidelity that was never hidden well enough, and the abuse that bled into every corner of their lives—it was all just part of something that was never meant to be whole in the first place.
Hyunjin had always taken after his mother—sweet, soft, emotional, and far too sensitive for a world that didn’t know how to handle him. All the things his father despised most were the very things that made him who he was.
But everything changed the day they divorced—on his eighth birthday, of all days. The custody battle was short and merciless, and his mother lost. Just like that, Hyunjin was left behind, forced to stay with the one person he had always felt the least safe with.
It was hard at first. No—it was more than hard. It was suffocating. He had always been closer to his mother. She was his safe place, the one person who understood him without needing explanations.
They shared everything—art, dancing, music. She nurtured every soft part of him his father tried to tear down. She was the one who sat beside him at the piano, guiding his fingers over the keys, patient and warm, turning mistakes into something gentle instead of something to be punished for.
On the rare occasions his father left for business trips, they would sneak away to his grandparents’ house, where his mother’s old grand piano waited like a secret they were allowed to keep. It was the only place they could breathe, the only place they could exist as themselves without fear.
Because in his father’s house, there was no room for things like that—no music, no art, no softness. And Hyunjin and his mother were the embodiment of everything artistic, everything his father refused to tolerate.
His mother had been everything his father wasn’t. A dancer, a painter, a musician who could move seamlessly between piano, harp, and cello like it was second nature. She carried light in a house that did everything to snuff it out. And Hyunjin never understood how her parents—his grandparents—could have agreed to marry her off into something like that.
Was money really worth her happiness? Worth the years of quiet suffering she endured behind closed doors? He would never understand it.
And yet, despite everything, his mother had never been resentful. Not once. She carried herself with a quiet kind of strength, with kindness that never soured, with patience that never seemed to run out.
Ten years in an unhappy marriage, and she had no regrets—because it gave her him. She had told him that once, cupping his face so gently it almost hurt. That he was the greatest gift she had ever received in her life.
But even that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to win against his father.
For Hyunjin, losing all of that—the care, the warmth, the quiet kind of love that had once shaped him—at such a young age was something he never truly recovered from. Because after the divorce, it wasn’t just that his mother lost custody of him; it was that she lost him entirely. They weren’t allowed to see each other, not even once, until he turned sixteen.
And eight years… eight years was more than enough time for a person to change. More than enough time for something soft to harden into something unrecognizable.
It was long enough for him to lose the sweetness his mother had always cherished, the softness she had protected so carefully. Long enough for the boy who loved to dance, to sing, to lose himself in the piano, to disappear completely.
In his place was someone else—someone sharper, colder. Someone who got into fights without hesitation, who threw punches before thinking, who bullied just to feel something other than the emptiness gnawing inside him. Someone who drank too much, who partied too hard, who surrounded himself with noise just to drown out the silence that waited for him when everything stopped.
And even if his mother still loved him—still looked at him with that same warmth, that same unwavering care she had always given so freely—it didn’t change the fact that there was now a distance between them that neither of them knew how to cross. A gap carved out by years of absence and everything that had filled that space in between.
They no longer shared the same world, no longer moved in the same rhythm. When they finally met again, it wasn’t what it should have been. It wasn’t home. It was polite, restrained, almost formal. Like strangers trying to act like something more.
Hyunjin didn’t know how to be around her anymore. He didn’t know how to respond to her gentleness, how to accept the way she still reached for him so easily, like nothing had changed.
Love—something that had once come so naturally—now felt foreign in his hands, something he didn’t know how to hold without breaking. Even care felt unfamiliar, like a language he used to speak fluently but had long since forgotten.
He dated. Of course he did. He had girlfriends, played the part everyone expected him to play. The school’s golden boy with the prettiest girl on his arm—it was almost a requirement at that point, an image he maintained without question.
But there was nothing real in it. It was surface-level, all about appearances, about status, about desire stripped of anything deeper. It was sex, it was attention, it was validation—but it was never love.
Because Hyunjin didn’t know what love was anymore. Didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, or how it was supposed to exist. Whatever understanding he had of it had been taken from him too early, faded into something distant and unreachable.
And now, ten years later, it felt too late to learn. Too late to try. Because deep down, in the quiet parts of himself he tried so hard to ignore, Hyunjin believed one thing with certainty—that the person he had become was not someone worthy of being loved.
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That morning, he got into a fight—one of many, nothing new, nothing unusual. But this one ended differently. Badly. Horribly. The kind of badly that didn’t just fade away with a suspension or a warning. The kind that lingered, that left something permanent behind.
And just like that, it became his last straw. The principal had already warned him at the end of his sophomore year—one more fight, and he was out. No exceptions, no second chances.
Not that it mattered much. Getting kicked out of school was nothing new to him. It had been a pattern ever since middle school, something almost expected at this point. This was his third high school, and usually, he managed to last at least a year before everything inevitably fell apart.
But high school had been different from the start. When puberty hit, it was like something inside him snapped loose and never quite settled back into place. His emotions became unpredictable, constantly shifting, impossible to control. He was triggered more easily, anger rising faster than he could contain it, and once it broke through, it consumed everything in its path.
So he lashed out. He fought, he broke things, he pushed back against anyone who tried to restrain him—even teachers weren’t off-limits.
It only got worse during his junior year. That had been the lowest point. He got expelled twice in a single school year—something that almost impressed even himself, in a bitter, hollow way.
By the time he entered his senior year, his father had already made it clear. This was it. One last chance. One more mistake, and he’d be shipped off to a boarding school without discussion, without appeal.
And that morning, it happened.
It started with Eunwoo—his rival, if that word even covered it. The school’s former golden boy before Hyunjin transferred in and took that place without even trying. They had never gotten along, not from the moment Hyunjin first stepped into that school. And things only got worse after Hyunjin stole his girlfriend, Yerin, just three months after transferring.
Since then, it had been constant—snide remarks, heated exchanges, fights that nearly broke out every other day. There was always something simmering between them, waiting for the slightest push to boil over.
Today, it did.
And this time, Hyunjin might have gone too far. Far enough that the principal didn’t even bother asking for his side of the story, didn’t care what started it or who threw the first punch. It didn’t matter anymore. The decision had already been made. And far enough that Eunwoo’s parents were now threatening legal action, turning what was already bad into something far worse.
So now… now he was waiting for his father to pick him up—jaw clenched tight, fists resting against his thighs, pale and bruised, knuckles aching from the impact. His bottom lip was swollen, split open and smeared with dried blood that had long since stopped bleeding but still stung every time he moved his mouth.
It had been hours since the principal called his father. The fight had happened before the first period, and ever since they dragged him apart, he had been sitting there, stuck in that office, waiting for everything to finally catch up to him.
A few minutes after the final bell rang, a knock came from the door.
“Mr. Hwang,” the principal greeted.
The moment the door opened, Hyunjin felt his blood run cold. He didn’t need to look to know what kind of expression his father wore. He knew. He could feel it—heavy, suffocating, pressing down on him like something inevitable. This wasn’t going to end well. It never did.
“Hyunjin, if you could please wait outside. I need to speak with your father.”
He only nodded, standing up without a word and walking out of the room, careful not to look back. Still, he could feel it—his father’s gaze burning into his back, sharp and unforgiving, following him even after the door closed behind him.
The hallway felt too quiet. He stood there, waiting. Time stretched thin, each second dragging longer than the last, until ten minutes felt like hours. Not that there was much to discuss anyway. The outcome had already been decided. He was expelled. No more warnings, no more second chances.
This was it—his last straw, just like his father had said.
When the door finally opened again, Hyunjin straightened instinctively. His father stepped out, already shaking the principal’s hand, his expression composed, controlled—like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to be handled and dismissed.
And then, without so much as a glance in Hyunjin’s direction, he turned and walked away. Just like that.
Hyunjin followed immediately. They kept a measured distance between them, footsteps echoing softly against the floor. No words were exchanged. Hyunjin kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground, focusing on each step instead of the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind—of what was waiting for him once they got home.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, and it didn’t break—not in the car, not even once.
His father didn’t acknowledge him at all. Instead, he busied himself with phone calls, speaking in that calm, detached tone he used for business, as if Hyunjin wasn’t even there. As if nothing had happened.
And somehow, that made it worse.
By the time the car finally pulled up to the front gate of the house, Hyunjin could feel his body reacting before his mind could catch up. His blood pressure spiked, his chest tightening as his heart began to pound violently against his ribs. The sound of it filled his ears—loud, relentless, impossible to ignore—as dread settled deep in his bones, heavy and unshakable. He knew what was coming.
He always did.
The second they stepped inside the house, his father didn’t say a word. He walked straight to his study, and Hyunjin followed closely behind, already bracing himself.
The moment the door shut, it happened so fast he barely had time to register where he was.
A sharp force struck the side of his face, snapping his head to the side as pain exploded through him—hot, stinging, immediate.
It shot down his body in waves, rattling through his bones. The cut on his lip split open again, fresh blood seeping out as it throbbed violently.
For a second, the world tilted. His vision blurred, dizziness crashing over him as every bruise and ache from the fight came rushing back tenfold, ignited all at once.
His eyes burned. Tears threatened, instinctive and uncontrollable—but he forced them back, swallowing them down before they could fall.
He knew better. If his father saw even a hint of weakness, it would only make things worse.
“You imbecile!” his father’s voice tore through the room. “You really have no shame, do you?”
There was nothing human in it anymore. The sound was sharp, venomous—each word like something meant to cut, to wound deeper than any blow.
Hyunjin didn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare. He knew better than to meet his father’s eyes in a moment like this. It would be seen as defiance, as a challenge—and that would only push him further.
So he stayed still, gaze fixed on the floor, on his trembling legs he tried desperately to steady. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles whitening as he held himself together, holding the pain in, holding everything in.
“Walking around, getting into fights, tarnishing your family name!” his father spat. “Are you proud of yourself, son? Is this how you repay me for raising you? Three schools—three schools in two years! What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid piece of shit?”
He scoffed, pacing around the room like a storm that refused to settle.
“I’ve had enough of you. You’re going to that school. At this rate, no one is going to want you anywhere, so you might as well rot there while you figure out whatever the fuck you think you’re doing with your life.” His voice dropped, colder now, final. “Don’t even think about coming back home until you get your shit together.”
A pause—heavy, suffocating. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”
And just like that, it was over.
Hyunjin nodded and walked out of the room without another word, his movements slow, controlled, as if anything faster might shatter what little composure he had left. He made his way up to his room on the second floor, each step heavier than the last.
None of this was a surprise. His father had already warned him the last time he got expelled—one more time, and he’d be sent away. A boarding school. A special one, for boys like him. Troubled. Difficult. Broken in ways no one wanted to deal with.
He had always dreaded it.
Being trapped in one place with no way out, no distractions, no escape—it felt suffocating just thinking about it.
No parties, no alcohol, no cigarettes. And most of all, no girls to mess around with, no easy ways to burn off the restlessness clawing under his skin.
Those things had always been his outlet, the only ways he knew how to quiet the storm inside him, even if it was only temporary. And if even those hadn’t been enough—if he still ended up fighting, still losing control, still teetering on the edge of something unhinged—then he couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen when they were all stripped away from him.
He knew something was wrong with him. He wasn’t blind to it. He knew he had issues—something deeper than just a bad temper, something that coiled tight inside him and snapped without warning. He knew how easily he was triggered, how quickly everything escalated, how once the anger took over, he stopped thinking entirely.
In those moments, he wasn’t himself. He was something else—something reckless, something dangerous.
He knew he probably needed help.
But his father didn’t believe in things like that. To him, it was nothing but weakness, an embarrassment to be hidden, buried, denied. Not something to be understood or treated—just something to be controlled, forced into silence.
His mother had seen it once, had recognized something was wrong, something deeper than what anyone else acknowledged. She had begged his father to let him see a therapist, her voice desperate in a way he had never heard before. It had only led to another fight. Another explosion. Another threat of separation.
And Hyunjin couldn’t go through that again.
He couldn’t lose her a second time—not when he had only just gotten her back, even if what they had now felt fragile, distant, like something already half-broken. It was still the only good thing in his life, the only steady thing he had left. So he brushed it off, forced a smile, told her not to worry, told her he could handle it on his own.
He couldn’t.
The rage inside him was too big, too consuming. It felt like something vile had taken root inside him, something rotten and ugly that spread no matter how hard he tried to contain it. Something that couldn’t be tamed, no matter what he did.
And after years of fighting it, of losing to it, of letting it take over again and again… it had stopped feeling like something separate.
It had become a part of him.
When Hyunjin entered his room, he dropped onto his bed instantly, face buried deep into the pillow, hands fisting the sheets so tightly his knuckles ached.
A scream tore out of him, but it was swallowed by the fabric, muffled and suffocated before it could exist. He cried the same way—silent, restrained, careful. Always careful.
Hyunjin was a sensitive person. He always had been. Emotions moved through him like a rushing stream—fast, overwhelming, impossible to stop once they started.
But inside this house, he wasn’t allowed to feel any of it, let alone show it. There was no space for softness here, no room for vulnerability. And so, everything he couldn’t express twisted into something else. Something sharper. Something louder. That was how the anger started—how it grew into something uncontrollable.
Because with the life he lived, with the person he lived with, it was impossible not to feel anything. But it was even more impossible to let those feelings be seen.
He was used to it by now. He had learned how to hold it in, how to swallow everything down until there was nothing left on the surface. But that didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it worse. The more he buried it, the more it built up, pressing and pressing until it had nowhere else to go but out—and when it did, it came out as rage. Sudden, explosive, impossible to contain.
That was why he snapped so easily. That was why he couldn’t stop himself once it started.
And it wasn’t like he had a choice. He was stuck here.
He had tried to run away once. Just once.
It had been enough to teach him never to try again. His father made sure of that—beating him from night until morning, leaving him bruised, broken, aching for weeks after. The memory of it still lived in his body, a quiet reminder of what would happen if he ever tried to escape again.
And even if he did manage to get away, where would he go? He had no friends to turn to, no one to take him in. Moving from school to school had made sure of that—never staying long enough to belong anywhere. And his mother… he couldn’t go to her. Not like that. Not when it would only drag her back into something she had barely escaped from. Not when it could put her in danger all over again.
So he stayed.
And when everything inside him became too much—when the emotions rose too high, when the walls felt like they were closing in—the only thing he could do was bury it. Push it down as deep as it would go, lock it away, and wait. Wait for it to pass, for the storm to burn itself out on its own.
That was what he did that night.
Alone, silent, and breaking where no one could see.
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The next morning, he woke up in the same position he had collapsed into the night before, body stiff and unmoving as if sleep hadn’t really touched him at all.
He blinked slowly, eyes burning as they adjusted to the harsh morning light spilling in through the window. A quiet groan left him as he shifted, wincing at the soreness that had settled deep into his muscles from being curled up for hours. Everything ached—his neck, his back, even his hands still felt tight from how hard he had been gripping the sheets.
He pushed himself up slowly, movements sluggish, and sat at the edge of the bed with his legs hanging just above the floor.
For a moment, he stayed there, unmoving, letting the weight of everything settle back into him. Then, with a quiet exhale, he forced himself to stand and made his way to the bathroom.
The warm water from the shower ran over him, easing the tension locked in his body, washing away the sweat and the remnants of yesterday, even if it couldn’t touch what lingered underneath. He stood there longer than he needed to, letting the heat ground him, letting the steady stream of water drown out his thoughts for just a little while.
Tomorrow would be his last day of freedom before he was sent away to that boarding school. And after what happened yesterday, he already knew how today was going to go. Grounded. Restricted. No chance to spend that last day the way he wanted.
There was no point fighting it.
By the time he stepped out, wrapping a towel around himself and drying off, he had already resigned himself to it. He walked over to his closet and picked out something to wear, something simple, something that didn’t require too much thought. Then he moved toward the door, ready to leave his room—only to stop when he noticed a box sitting on the floor just outside.
Frowning slightly, he bent down to pick it up before stepping back inside, placing it on his bed.
It was navy blue, the surface smooth and pristine, with a silver compass carved into the center like a crest. Tiny stars were scattered across it, subtle but deliberate, and at the bottom, in the same silver, the words Byeol-bit Academy were printed neatly.
His chest tightened.
He opened it anyway.
Inside was a neatly arranged set of uniforms—a navy blazer with the same compass sigil stitched onto the chest, a grey knitted vest with the emblem pinned carefully in place, a crisp white shirt, a black tie, and matching slacks, all folded with precision. Everything about it was clean, uniform, controlled.
The sight made something in his stomach turn.
Clothing had always been one of the few things that felt like his—something he could control, something he could use to express himself when everything else was stripped away. He took pride in it, in the way he carried himself, in the way people noticed, admired, talked about it. It was one of the only things he had left that felt like him.
And now, even that was being taken.
A uniform. Something meant to erase individuality, to force everyone into the same shape, the same mold. Just another thing he wouldn’t get to choose anymore.
But there was nothing he could do about it. There never was—not with his father. This wasn’t something he could argue, not something he could negotiate his way out of. It was already decided.
It always was.
So he just let out a quiet breath, closed the box, and left it sitting there on his bed. Then he turned and walked out of his room, heading downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat, even if he wasn’t sure he could stomach it.
As he stepped into the kitchen, Hayoon greeted him with a soft smile, already setting a plate of eggs and toast in front of him along with a cup of coffee. She was one of the few people in the house he didn’t hate.
Most of the staff that worked for his father were all the same—cold, distant, and indifferent, shaped by the man they served.
But Hayoon had always been different. She cared, even if she never said it out loud. She showed it in the only ways she could, in the small, quiet gestures that never drew attention. Bringing him food and medicine when his father locked him in his room, tending to him when he was too bruised and broken to even step outside. Offering him silent sympathy, even when Hyunjin hated the feeling of being pitied.
And yet… it still felt good.
He hated that it did. Hated how something as simple as kindness could make him feel so weak, so exposed—like he was grasping for something he shouldn’t need. Craving sympathy from someone who wasn’t even family.
But in a way, Hayoon had become the closest thing to a mother figure he had in this house. She had been working for the family long before he was even born. She knew his father—knew exactly what kind of man he was, had seen enough to understand both the good and the ugly. And still, she stayed. Loyal, despite everything.
And for that, Hyunjin trusted her.
He ate in silence, not sparing much conversation. He didn’t feel like talking. Words felt heavy in his mouth, unnecessary. All he wanted was to go back to his room, to shut the door, to disappear into the quiet until it was finally time to face whatever came next.
So he finished his breakfast quickly, drained his coffee, muttered a quiet thank you to Hayoon, and headed back upstairs.
He had just reached his door when he heard the front door open.
A voice followed almost immediately.
“Hyunnie, babe… where are you?”
Yerin.
He should’ve expected this. Of course she would come looking for him—after he disappeared yesterday, after he left her without a word before everything went to shit, after he never showed up again because he was stuck in the principal’s office until the day ended.
He knew he couldn’t avoid her forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to tell her—about the expulsion, about the boarding school, about how he’d be gone.
Letting out a quiet sigh, he called back, “I’m upstairs.”
Then he walked into his room, leaving the door open for her.
She didn’t hesitate. Yerin stormed in not long after, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make it rattle.
“You left me!” she snapped, her lips forming a pout that might have been cute to anyone else—but right now, Hyunjin felt nothing.
“Hello to you too,” he shot back dryly, leaning against the edge of his desk.
“Where were you yesterday? You didn’t even come find me after! I had to—”
“I got expelled.”
The words cut through her complaint cleanly, stopping her mid-sentence before she could go any further.
If he was being honest, he never really liked her. Never even found her that attractive—not enough for it to mean anything. It had always been about pride, about the title. He needed that if he wanted to survive in school, or at least that was what he had convinced himself.
In every school he transferred to, Hyunjin quickly became known as the “it” guy. He didn’t care much for the attention itself, but he understood what came with it—respect, fear, distance.
It made things easier. Easier than trying to fit in, easier than adjusting over and over again in places that never felt like his. If people respected him enough, they would come to him. If they feared him enough, they would stay away. Either way, it worked in his favor.
So that was the role he played.
He’d get close to the popular guys when it was convenient, and when it wasn’t, he’d go after their girlfriends instead—which was usually easier. After that, the reactions were predictable. They either respected him or hated him. Like Eunwoo.
It didn’t matter which one it was, as long as it kept him where he needed to be. It was survival, nothing more. He never wanted friends, never cared for real relationships. He knew he wasn’t built for them, and with the way his anger twisted through him, it would only end badly anyway.
Yerin was no different from the others. A tactic. Like every girl before her. She was pretty—hot enough, appealing enough, enough for him to want to fucked her.
And it wasn’t like he treated them badly. He wasn’t cruel, not intentionally. He understood the unspoken agreement between them.
They didn’t love him, just like he didn’t love them. It was about status, about being seen, about what they could gain from standing next to each other. A win for a win. Simple.
The only thing he couldn’t stand about Yerin was the drama.
Just like now.
“You what?” she snapped, eyes widening as she straightened abruptly on her feet. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice climbed higher with every word. “So you’re leaving me?”
“I’m not leaving you,” Hyunjin replied flatly, “I got expelled.”
Yerin let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through her hair.
“And now what?” she demanded, staring at him like he’d personally ruined her life. “What’s going to happen to us? What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know,” Hyunjin muttered, irritation already bleeding into his voice as he rubbed harshly at his temple. “But I’m going to a boarding school.”
“A what?” Her head jerked back in disbelief. “Excuse me?” She pointed at him accusingly. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Because I only found out yesterday,” he shot back.
“And you didn’t think to tell me then?” she scoffed, throwing her hands up dramatically.
Hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing dangerously thin. “For fuck’s sake, Yerin,” he snapped, “I’m telling you now.”
“Don’t raise your voice at me!” she yelled, stepping closer as if to challenge him.
Hyunjin’s eyes darkened instantly. He pushed himself off the desk and stared her down.
“Or what?” he snapped.
That shut her up.
For a moment, the room fell into silence before she looked away, her voice softening just enough to sound convincing. “Nothing… I just… you know how I feel about long distance, right, babe?”
“You think I have a choice?” Hyunjin challenged her.
She hesitated, then sighed. “You’re right. I’m—I'm sorry. I just… I’m going to miss you.”
Hyunjin almost scoffed.
He knew that was a lie. She wouldn’t miss him. If anything, she’d probably crawl right back to Eunwoo the second he was gone. But he didn’t care. It wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Not once he left.
“Yeah… yeah,” he muttered, nodding slightly. “I’m going to miss you too.”
A lie for a lie.
“You’re coming back for prom though, right?” she added quickly, stepping closer. “I already bribed the committee to make us King and Queen. I’m not standing on that stage alone.”
“We’ll see if I can get away,” he said, his tone dismissive. Then, after a beat, his gaze darkened slightly. “Now come be a good girl for me, okay?”
Because, in the end, that was what this was.
And Hyunjin wasn’t cruel. Not at his core. Everything he did—every choice, every role he played—was about survival. And release… release was part of that too. A way to quiet everything inside him, even if only for a little while.
So yeah, he took what he needed from her that night. He fucked her, and he fucked her good.
And for a moment, at least, the noise in his head finally went quiet.