MELODY || Jikook ||

♬ Veil in the Dirt ♬

Third person's P.O.V:

Jimin's heart was hammering against his ribs, each beat loud enough that he feared the walls themselves could hear it. The silence of the room pressed down on him, suffocating, and every creak or whisper of movement outside made him flinch.

He could come back at any moment.

The thought sent a shiver through him. He didn't want to imagine what the prisoner planned to do, and yet the fear gnawed at him relentlessly. His soft, gentle hands and even the strength in his body felt useless, restrained by rough ropes that bit into his skin. His legs, bound tightly, left him unable to move freely, a puppet trapped in strings.

I can't… I can't just stay here, he thought desperately.
He can't lie here like some broken doll, crying for someone to come and save him.

Tears blurred his vision as he tried to scan the darkness. The room offered almost nothing to hold onto, nothing to anchor himself with. The air smelled of damp wood and something faintly metallic, a reminder of how long he had been here.

His fingers clawed at the ropes, trying to find a weak spot, any slack at all, but the coarse fibers held firm. His nails scraped raw against the rope, leaving little trails of blood that only made his skin burn more painfully.

He pressed himself back against the wall, head bowed, trying to slow his ragged breathing. Every instinct screamed at him: run, fight, survive. But with his limbs tied, he was almost entirely helpless. Panic clawed up his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to think.

His chest heaved, every breath shaky and uneven as his eyes scanned the darknessa again.
Then...something caught the faintest glimmer of light. A tiny reflection, just enough to shine against the shadowed floor.

He froze, heart hammering with sudden hope.

He shifted his weight, gritting his teeth as he pushed his bound body forward inch by inch. His legs strained against the ropes, his hands useless behind his back, but he refused to give up.

He had to reach it.

His body scraped against the rough wooden floor, each movement sending splinters into his skin, but he didn't stop. Inch by inch, he dragged himself forward, breath ragged, chest burning with effort.

Finally, he reached the object. He could see it. Cold. Hard. Solid. Glass.

His eyes widened. A bottle. A thick glass bottle, still mostly intact, with a jagged edge reflecting the dim light. His mind raced this could cut the ropes.

He shifted his weight again, turning his body as best he could despite his arms being bound behind him.

His fingertips closed around the neck of a glass bottle, dusty and forgotten, but sharp enough—if luck was on his side.

With a sharp, desperate thump, he slammed the bottle against the floor.

Crack!

It shattered into shards, glittering faintly in the darkness. He froze for a heartbeat, watching the pieces scatter like broken stars. His fingers ached and blood pricked at the tips where the glass had nicked him but he didn't care.

With trembling hands, he grabbed the largest shard, gripping it tightly. Its edge was uneven and sharp, jagged, but it was enough.

He brought it to the ropes, pressing, sawing, scraping against the coarse fibers that held him captive. The pain in his fingers and palms was intense, each cut a burning fire, but he forced himself to ignore it.

The ropes resisted, scratching against the glass, but slowly—so slowly—the fibers began to fray. His heart leapt with every tiny snap and tear.

"I… I can do this…" he whispered through his trembling lips, voice barely audible. "I have to… I have to."