Alive

The Breaking Point

You woke to warmth.

For a fleeting second, it felt like home. The hush of the hotel room, the way the morning light filtered through sheer curtains, painting the walls in soft gold — it almost convinced you that last night had been a bad dream. That you hadn't hidden in a closet trembling. That Jaebeom hadn't come in guns blazing, jaw clenched, drenched in danger.

Almost.

But then your eyes adjusted, and you realized the truth. You weren't home. You weren't safe. Not really. The faint scent of gunpowder still clung to the clothes discarded on the chair across the room.

Turning, you saw him.

Jaebeom lay beside you, back facing you, broad shoulders rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed calmer than you'd seen in days. His hand rested loosely against the sheet, fingers twitching every so often like even in sleep, he couldn't fully let go.

You bit your lip, a small ache tugging at your chest. He wasn't curled around you the way he normally would be. He was close — but not close enough. As if even in sleep, something inside him held him back.

Carefully, you scooted closer, curling against his back. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder blade and breathed him in — that mix of cologne, sweat, and faint blood. It grounded you.

You almost drifted back to sleep, but then his body shifted.

He rolled onto his side to face you, eyes barely open, voice gravelly with exhaustion.
"Morning."

The single word carried weight, softer than usual. He sounded tired, yes — but not just tired. Worn.

A smile broke onto your lips despite everything. You reached up and touched his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble that shadowed his jaw. "Morning, handsome," you whispered back.

His lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and kissed you.

For a split second, shock froze you. But the warmth of his mouth, the way his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, melted everything inside you. You kissed him back slowly, savoring the rare tenderness.

When he pulled back, you stayed close, noses brushing, feeling his breath mingle with yours.

"How did you sleep?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You sighed. "Not as good as I would've at home... but it was alright."

The flicker of guilt passed across his face before he sat up a little. "I'm sorry, Y/N. All of this—" he gestured vaguely, frustration simmering in his tone. "I should've told you sooner. About them. About me."

You pushed him gently back down, surprising him.

"Y/N—?"

Before he could react, you swung a leg over and straddled his waist, sitting on top of him. His eyes widened, but he didn't resist.

"Sometimes you don't have to apologize," you murmured, cheeks flushing. Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. "If I'm being honest... it was kind of hot when you saved me. Like I was a princess... and you were my knight."

Heat flickered in his gaze. His hand slid up to your thigh, thumb pressing into your skin possessively. "You are my princess," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that was equal parts tender and dangerous.

Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

Your breath hitched. You froze, staring down at him, at the small bump now visible beneath your shirt. He lingered there, lips soft against the life you carried.