Saved || A Jungkook fanfic

36.

Don't ask me why it always rained when I was in a shitty mood.

It was like the universe had some sick sense of humor, timing its downpours with my personal crises. The streetlights flickered in the storm, their dull glow barely illuminating my path as I trudged through puddles, my soaked dress clinging to me like a second skin. My hair, tangled and heavy with rain, slapped against my face with every gust of wind—nature's way of berating me for my idiotic choices.

I didn't bother wiping the water from my cheeks. Whether it was rain or tears didn't really matter anymore.

The first house that felt remotely like a safe haven stood just ahead, its porch light warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. My feet carried me up the steps without hesitation, and before I could lose my nerve, I knocked. Three slow, deliberate thuds.

Muffled voices. A shuffle of footsteps.

Then, the door swung open.

Eliza stood in the doorway, her brows pinching together as she took in the absolute wreckage that was me.

"What are you doing... here?" Her voice slowed as her gaze traveled over my drenched form, her usual sharpness replaced with something eerily close to concern.

A lifetime ago, I would've expected a smug smirk, a snarky remark. But now, she just stared, waiting.

Behind her, I saw Taehyung and Jimin appear in the hallway. Tae's expression dropped instantly. "Holy shit, Ailene, you look like ass."

'I look better than I feel, at least.

Eliza smacked his arm. "You idiot, bring her inside first." She didn't wait for a response, just wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me inside like some half-dead stray cat.

"I think I have some clothes in the bedroom. I'll be right back," she muttered, disappearing down the hall.

I stood in the center of the living room, dripping onto the hardwood floor, feeling like a foreign object that didn't belong. The space around me was the same as it had been for years, warm and lived-in—a comfortable chaos I used to spend my days and nights. Vinyl records stacked haphazardly near an old record player, some obscure jazz album resting on the turntable, waiting to be played. Books lined the walls, their spines worn with use. Taehyung's version of art—abstract, strange, somehow both thought-provoking and nonsensical—decorated the space. A framed polaroid sat on the coffee table, slightly tilted. Us. From better days.

The contrast between this home and the cold emptiness inside me was suffocating.

Tae kneeled beside me, his fingers carefully wrapping around my frozen hand. His touch was gentle, reassuring, like he was afraid I'd shatter if he held too tightly.

"What happened?" His voice was careful, coaxing. "What did he do to you?"

I shook my head, silent. My throat was raw from too much shouting, too many emotions I didn't know how to contain.

Jimin, who had been rummaging through a basket beside the couch, pulled out a blanket and practically shoved me down so I was lying on my side. He draped the thick fabric over me, then, to my surprise, laid down beside me, his arms encircling my body as if he could physically hold me together.

"The hell are you doing?" Tae snapped, trying to yank Jimin off me.

"Relax, man. She's fucking freezing."

Was I? I couldn't feel it. My body, my mind, my soul—everything was just numb.

Eliza returned, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, an oversized hoodie hanging off her frame. "Here. You can wear these," she said, placing a t-shirt and leggings on the back of the couch. Her voice was softer now, gentler.