The K-drama played softly on Nana's bedroom TV, some romantic comedy she'd been excited to watch. But Xavier had fallen asleep within the first fifteen minutes, his head pillowed on her lap, his breathing deep and even.
This was normal. This happened all the time.
Xavier would come over, they'd put on a show, and he'd be asleep before the opening credits finished. Nana would watch her dramas and absently play with his hair, and everything would be peaceful and perfect and exactly as it had always been.
Except.
Except Nana's hands had wandered.
She'd been stroking his hair, her fingers gentle, when she'd traced down to his cheek. His jaw. Lower, to his throat.
And felt something wrong.
Her fingers paused. Pressed lightly.
There was a ridge under his skin. Several ridges. Following a line across his throat.
Stitches.
Nana's breath caught.
Carefully, so carefully, she pulled down the collar of his shirt slightly. The makeup was expertly applied, nearly invisible, but this close—with her fingers actually touching—she could feel the texture difference.
Concealer. Covering something.
She pulled out her phone, turned on the flashlight, angled it carefully.
There. Barely visible under the makeup. A line of stitches running across his throat. Fresh. Maybe a day old.
"He got hurt again."
Nana's hands were trembling now. When had this happened? He'd picked her up from art class looking perfectly fine. They'd driven here, watched TV, everything normal.
But he'd been wearing a jacket. Long sleeves.
And she'd hugged him in the car—she always did—and he'd been fine, hadn't he?
Hadn't he?
No. She remembered now. The hug had been brief. One-armed from him. And there'd been something in his expression, just for a moment, something that might have been pain.
She'd thought he was just tired.
*What else did I miss?*
Nana's gaze traveled down. Xavier had shifted in his sleep, his arm thrown across his stomach, and she carefully lifted his hand.
His beautiful, elegant hands that were always so gentle with her.
She turned his hand over, examining it in the light from her phone.
Small cuts across his knuckles. Barely healed. The kind you'd get from—
From what? Falling? Fighting?
She checked his other hand. More cuts. Some older, some newer. A pattern of injuries that suggested...
*No. No, that's impossible.*
But the evidence was literally in her hands.
She looked at his sleeping face—so peaceful, so beautiful, silver hair falling across his forehead. He looked like an angel. He looked innocent and gentle and safe.
But.
His shirt had ridden up slightly from his position on her lap.
Nana's breath stuttered.
There was bandaging. White medical gauze wrapped around his ribs. And above it, just visible at the edge of the bandage, bruising. Dark purple, almost black.
Her hands shook as she carefully—so carefully—lifted his shirt higher.
*Please don't wake up. Please don't wake up.*
More bandaging on his left arm. Blood had seeped through slightly, staining the white gauze pink.
And on his ribs, where the bandaging didn't cover—
Scars.
Old scars. Bullet wound scars. Knife scars. The kind of scars you saw on soldiers. On survivors. On people who lived violent lives.
One scar looked like it was from a bullet. Round, puckered, positioned over his right ribs.
Another was a long slash across his abdomen, like someone had tried to gut him.
More scattered across his torso—some old and faded, some more recent.
Nana's vision swam. The room felt like it was tilting.
*No. This isn't real. This can't be real.*
Xavier mumbled something in his sleep, and Nana froze, heart hammering.
"Starlight..." His voice was slurred with sleep. "Smell so good..."
He shifted, nuzzling closer to her stomach like a cat seeking warmth, and then settled back into deep sleep.
Nana sat there, paralyzed, her phone still casting light over his sleeping form.
This was Xavier.
Her Xavier.
Her Xaviee who caught butterflies with her. Who let her climb on him and braid his hair and force-feed him proper meals. Who called her Starlight and smiled that rare, gentle smile that made her heart skip.
Her Xavier who supposedly got mugged a week ago.
Who supposedly went to study groups.
Who supposedly was a normal college student studying business.
But normal college students didn't have bullet wounds.
Didn't have knife scars.
Didn't have fresh stitches across their throat that they covered with makeup.
The K-drama continued playing, unwatched. On screen, the protagonist was revealing he had a secret—he was actually a spy, living a double life, lying to the woman he loved to protect her.
The dramatic irony would have been funny if Nana wasn't currently having a breakdown.
"It's impossible,*"she told herself firmly. "Xavier is gentle. He's soft. He wouldn't hurt anyone."
But the evidence was literally sleeping on her lap.
*The robbery,* she thought desperately. *It was from the robbery. He fought back. That's why—*
But that didn't explain the old scars. The bullet wounds that had clearly happened months or years ago.
*Maybe he was in an accident as a kid. Maybe—*
She was making excuses and she knew it.
Nana's hands trembled as she carefully pulled his shirt back down, covering the evidence. She turned off her phone light and sat in the dim glow of the TV, her mind racing.
She thought about all the times Xavier had been unavailable. The "study groups" that happened at odd hours. The way he sometimes looked exhausted beyond what normal college life would cause.
She thought about how he always knew when she was in trouble, even before she called him.
How he was always there, always protecting her, always watching out for her.
She thought about the night she'd gone to his apartment and he hadn't been home. How he'd texted back hours later saying he was at a study group.
At 11 PM.
On a Wednesday.
She thought about "Jihoon," the cousin who'd appeared out of nowhere and had the same alert, dangerous way of moving.
She thought about the mall incident. The man found dead in the bathroom.
*Bullet to the forehead. Stab wounds on chest and stomach.*
She thought about her art tutor, found dead the night before he was supposed to teach her.
She thought about Xavier's bookshelf. The Art of War. How he'd panicked when she'd tried to touch it. How he'd made up that ridiculous excuse about it being a "mature book."
All these little inconsistencies. All these moments where things didn't quite add up.
She'd ignored them all because he was Xavier. Her Xavier. And Xavier was good and safe and would never—
Would never what?
Nana looked down at him, sleeping so peacefully on her lap. His face was relaxed, unguarded, younger somehow in sleep.
He looked like he couldn't hurt a fly.
But his body told a different story.
"Who are you?" she wondered, her fingers unconsciously stroking his hair. "Who are you really?"
The drama on TV reached a dramatic moment. The female lead had discovered her boyfriend's secret. She was crying, demanding answers, her world falling apart.
"How could you lie to me?" the actress sobbed. "How could you pretend to be someone you're not?"
Nana felt tears prick her own eyes.
*Is that what you've been doing? Pretending?*
But even as the thought formed, she knew it wasn't entirely true. Because the Xavier sleeping on her lap—the one who smiled softly when she fed him, who let her braid his hair, who called her Starlight with such tenderness—that Xavier was real too.
She'd seen him be gentle. Seen him be kind. Seen him be everything good and soft and caring.
But maybe he was also... something else.
'Maybe people can be more than one thing," she thought, and wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.
Xavier shifted again in his sleep, and Nana's hand came up automatically to soothe him, stroking his hair.
"Shh," she whispered. "Sleep, Xaviee."
He settled, a small smile curving his lips.
And Nana sat there in the dark, holding the sleeping form of someone she thought she knew, and realized she might not know him at all.
But do I want to know?
That was the question, wasn't it?
If she asked—really asked—would he tell her the truth?
And if he did, would she want to hear it?
Would knowing change everything?
Would it change how she felt about him?
*Could* it change how she felt about him?
Nana looked at his sleeping face, at the boy—the man—who'd been by her side for as long as she could remember. Who made her feel safe. Who protected her. Who looked at her like she was something precious.
And she made a decision.
She wouldn't ask. Not yet.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Because some part of her—a part she didn't want to examine too closely—was terrified of what the answer might be.
And another part, even deeper, whispered that she already knew.
*He's dangerous,* that voice said. *He's done terrible things. Those scars didn't come from accidents.*
But then he mumbled her name again in his sleep—"Starlight"—and her heart clenched.
*But he's never been dangerous to me.*
And wasn't that what mattered?
Nana took a shaky breath and tried to focus on the TV. The drama had moved on to a lighter scene, romantic and sweet.
Xavier slept on, unaware that his carefully constructed world had developed its first real crack.
That Nana had seen. Had touched. Had counted his scars and realized something was very, very wrong.
But for now, she'd let him sleep.
She'd let him keep his secrets.
Because she wasn't ready for her world to fall apart.
Not yet.
When Xavier woke two hours later, the drama had ended and a new one was starting. Nana was still there, still stroking his hair, but something in her expression was different.
Distant. Thoughtful.
"Starlight?" His voice was rough with sleep. "How long was I out?"
"Two hours." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "The drama was good. You missed the whole thing."
"Sorry." He sat up, stretching carefully—mindful of his stitches but trying to make it look natural. "Did I drool on you?"
"Only a little." The tease was automatic, familiar. But there was something in her voice. Something careful.
Xavier studied her face. "You okay?"
"Mmm." She looked away. "Just tired. It's been a long week."
That was true enough. The mall incident had shaken her badly.
"Want me to go so you can rest?"
"No!" The response was too quick, almost desperate. She caught herself. "I mean... stay for dinner? Mrs. Lee made your favorite."
"Okay," he said softly. "I'll stay."
She smiled, and this time it looked more real.
But as Xavier followed her downstairs to dinner, he didn't notice the way she kept glancing at his throat. At his hands. At all the places she'd discovered his secrets.
He didn't notice that while he'd been sleeping, his careful mask had slipped.
And Nana had seen the monster underneath.
She just hadn't decided yet what to do about it.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.