Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♡
"I'm taking this off," Namjoon declared with quiet authority, his voice calm but unyielding. "The door is locked, so don't try anything."
Minjun flinched, shrinking further against the cold, unyielding wall. He gave a feeble nod, his bound wrists trembling as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. Namjoon knelt in front of him, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked to untie the knots holding Minjun captive. The fabric slackened with each pull, the rope biting less harshly into his skin until it finally fell away.
A sharp gasp escaped Minjun as the crisp air brushed over his chafed, raw wrists. Pain flared, sharp and biting, and he whimpered softly despite himself. He flexed his fingers, trying to coax life back into them, the tingling numbness making his movements clumsy.
"Easy," Namjoon said, offering a steadying hand as he helped Minjun to his feet. The younger boy swayed, his legs unsteady from hours of immobility, and Namjoon guided him carefully toward a plush armchair nearby.
"My name is Kim Namjoon," he introduced himself, easing Minjun down into the chair. "I'm the leader around here."
Minjun blinked, his surroundings slowly coming into focus as he rubbed his wrists. The soft texture of the chair's armrest beneath his fingertips offered a strange comfort. He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, his voice cracking. "P-please... the ba-bag..."
Namjoon paused, studying him for a moment. Then, with a nod, he stepped behind Minjun. A faint hum of reassurance filled the air before the teenager felt the tug at his neck. The cloth bag that had been suffocating him was slowly lifted away, bringing with it the stale scent of sweat and fear. Minjun clenched his eyes shut as light flooded in, only daring to open them when Namjoon spoke.
"It's okay," Namjoon said gently, his tone surprisingly tender. "The curtains are closed. You're safe here."
Minjun hesitated, prying his eyes open inch by inch. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp. It was small but undeniably luxurious, filled with polished furniture and expensive decor. The stark contrast between his treatment and the opulence around him made his chest tighten.
His gaze drifted upward, meeting Namjoon's. The man's almond-shaped eyes were warm, his expression soft and almost kind—a stark contradiction to the cold reality of Minjun's abduction. Namjoon's lips curled into a faint smile, but Minjun couldn't relax.
"We're not going to hurt you," Namjoon said, his voice low but firm. "Can I ask how old you are?"
"Se-seventeen," Minjun stammered, his voice hitching as tears welled up in his eyes again. "W-why are you keeping me here? Please... I need to go. I need my parents!" His trembling hand reached up to wipe his tear-streaked face, but Namjoon caught his wrist, grimacing at the sticky residue before handing Minjun a tissue.
"For both of our safety, for now," Namjoon replied, his tone measured.
"No!" Minjun sobbed, clutching the tissue in his fist. "I'd b-be safe with my parents. They'll come looking for me. They'll..." His voice cracked, his sobs dry and hoarse, the ache of crying for hours taking its toll.
