Alive

COME SOON

You pressed your back harder against the cold wall of the narrow closet, knees tucked into your chest so tightly you thought your ribs might crack. Every creak of the floor outside made your heart leap into your throat. Your breath came out in soft, broken tremors, and your hands — clammy and trembling — clutched the hem of your shirt as if holding it tight enough might hold the world together.

You whispered, barely audible even to yourself, "Please... come soon."

Your voice cracked, but you didn't care. It wasn't for anyone else. It was for him. For Jaebeom.
You prayed he'd hear you somehow, that he'd feel the same burn in his chest that you felt now — fear and hope wrestling each other to the ground inside your lungs.

A floorboard groaned outside the closet.

Then... silence.

Then—

SLAM.

The door to the room flung open with violent force, and your whole body flinched.

"Come out, little girl," a voice drawled, cold and mocking. "It's time to go on a ride."

The closet door handle twisted, rattled once, then—

BANG.

It burst open.

The man stood there, looming in the doorway like a shadow made flesh. Greasy hair fell over his forehead. A smirk pulled at his lips as his eyes locked on you, crouched and shaking.

"Ah," he chuckled darkly, "there you are—"

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Gunshots split the air like lightning.

The man spun around, shouting in panic, and the door slammed behind him as he ducked out of the closet's line of fire.

"What the—?!"

You clapped both hands over your mouth to stop the scream building in your throat. The echo of gunfire rattled the walls. You could hear boots hitting the floor outside, furniture breaking, shouting, more shots—short bursts of violence, each one louder than the last.

Your heart pounded so hard you thought it would break through your ribs.
But then—

A pause.
A breath.
Silence.

Then the closet door opened again.

And he was there.

Jaebeom.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the light behind him. His chest heaved with labored breaths. A streak of blood ran from the corner of his lip, and a jagged gash split his brow. One arm hung slightly lower than the other — bleeding, grazed by a bullet — but his gun was still steady in his hand.

He looked like a storm. A man made of rage and devotion.

The second you saw him, you broke.

"Jaebeom—!"

You shot forward, stumbling into his arms. He dropped his weapon instantly and caught you, wrapping you up in his arms with a desperate strength. Your fists clung to the fabric of his black shirt, and you buried your face into his chest, sobbing hard, finally letting go of everything you'd been holding back.

"I—I was so scared," you choked out.

"I know," he whispered into your hair, his voice rough and frayed. "I'm here now. I told you, Y/N... I told you I'd never let anyone hurt you."