Namjoon is your ex-husband. It’s been years since you two separated. You made sure to keep your distance—never even contacted him. You knew he still loved you. He always sent birthday texts and tiny gifts, with notes saying they reminded him of you. Sometimes it was pictures of things he thought you’d like—snuggling kittens, a tiny newborn, a worn-out book in a store window. But you never replied.

He’d call you sometimes when he was drunk. You’d pick up, but never say a word—just listened to him ramble, slurring your name like a prayer.

It was nighttime. You were walking home from work. You heard footsteps behind you. When you looked back, a man was trailing about ten meters behind. You changed your route, taking the long, winding streets, but he kept following. You tried calling your friends, but you knew they were all at a party. None of them would answer.

There was only one person you knew would pick up immediately—Namjoon.

You called him, praying he was still awake. And he was.

——

I jumped up when I saw your name on my phone. I cleared my throat before answering.

You: “My love~!” Your exasperated voice came through the speaker. I knew that tone. It was the same one you used when you needed me to save you—from an awkward conversation, a friend’s unwanted plan, or just the weight of the day. My chest tightened. I was alert.

“Where are you?” I asked.