Alive

Shadows, Fire and You

The ride home had been quiet, almost too quiet. He hadn't let go of your hand once, and though his thumb brushed against your skin as if to soothe you, there was tension in his shoulders he didn't bother hiding. The silence felt like a rope pulling tighter and tighter between you — and when you finally walked through the door, the first thing Jaebeom did was pull you against him, crushing you into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, voice hoarse.

It startled you — not the words, but the raw guilt in them. You pulled back just enough to look at him, fingers finding their way into his loose hair. "For what?"

"I wasn't driving good enough. I should've—" He broke off, eyes falling away from you like he was ashamed. His self-criticism felt sharp enough to cut.

You didn't let him finish. You grabbed his jaw, tilted his face back to you, and kissed him roughly. His lips were warm, urgent, and you whispered against them, "Shut up." Then you kissed him again, harder, demanding he feel the truth you couldn't quite say out loud.

His hands roamed without hesitation, sliding down your back, gripping your ass like he was grounding himself. When he tore his mouth from yours, it was only to drag his lips along the column of your neck, pressing kisses that made your skin shiver with want. You could already feel the way his breath grew heavier, more uneven. "I never got to punish you for interrupting me earlier," he whispered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. His fingers closed around your wrist, rough but careful. "Red room time."

The words shot through you like a spark, anticipation coiling deep in your stomach. But before you could reply, the atmosphere in the house shifted.

The living room wasn't empty.

"Eomma? Appa?" Jaebeom froze, his voice sharp with confusion.

Two figures stood there, immaculately dressed, eyes sweeping over both of you like a blade.

"Jaebeom," his mother said coolly, her gaze flicking to you, then back to him. "Who is this?"

Your stomach dropped. His hand trembled in yours. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

You squeezed his arm gently, whispering, It's okay. And then, even though your voice shook, you said softly, "Hello. I'm Y/N. I'm... his girlfriend."

The word hung heavy in the air. His mother's eyes widened in disbelief, and his father's lips pressed into a tight line.

"Girlfriend?" His father scoffed. "You have to be kidding me."

"She's ugly," his mother added coldly, her words slicing into you with a venom so casual it almost didn't feel real.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile and cleared your throat. "I'll give you guys some space. I'll go make some snacks," you said gently, acting like the insult didn't hurt — though inside your chest, something cracked.

But before you could step away, Jaebeom's voice thundered. "Hey. Don't talk about her like that." His tone shook with a rage you hadn't heard before, a dangerous edge laced with pure protectiveness.

Your heart stuttered.

"Jaebeom, it's okay—" you started, but the lump in your throat made your voice break.

"No." His hand tightened around yours, grounding you. His eyes were fierce, unwavering. "It's not okay. I told you I'd never let anyone hurt you. Not even them."

Your chest burned, torn between wanting to cry and wanting to kiss him senseless.

His mother tilted her head, hair falling like a curtain as she studied you with distaste. "What do you see in this girl, Jaebeom?"