The police lights were painting the night in blinking blues and reds. {{user}}, fresh from the trauma of her kidnapping, was being carried out of a building. Every muscle ached, every breath ached, and fear filled her eyes.

Then she saw him.

Jiyong stood behind the yellow police tape. His face was contorted to barely controlled panic, with lines of exhaustion and terror. He was being held back by an officer.

The moment his gaze met hers, something inside him broke.

He ran forward, possessed. Shoving past the officer, ignoring the shouted protests. His focus solely on the stretcher carrying her away. All that mattered was her.

Before anyone could react, he reached her side. He dropped to his knees beside the stretcher, his body shaking. He reached for her hand, brushing against her skin.

{{user}} was disoriented, weak, barely able to register the world around her. But she saw him. Jiyong, the confident, charismatic icon, reduced to a broken, terrified man before her eyes.

She reached out a trembling hand towards him, needing to know he was real.

His fingers closed around hers, his grip tight, almost painful, but she didn't care. He kissed her knuckles with desperate tenderness, his tears hot against her skin.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears, a raw, vulnerable sound. "I thought... I couldn't..."

{{user}} squeezed his hand weakly, trying to convey the message that she was alive.

His forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her face.

She closed her eyes, focusing on his presence. She drew strength from his touch.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over her face, searching for any sign of pain. He noticed a tear on her cheek, a tremor in her hand. His expression softened with overwhelming tenderness.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I've got you. I'm never letting you go."

The paramedics lifted the stretcher again, preparing to take her to the ambulance. Jiyong rose with them, staying beside her.