Jisoo was raised by a single father, an alpha who should never have been allowed near a child.

His mother left when he was still small enough to fit in the crook of an arm, and from that moment on, the apartment turned into a cage. The man drank himself hollow. Bottles lined the counters, the floors, the corners of rooms that smelled of rot and old anger. He hit when he was bored. He hit when he was drunk. He hit when Jisoo was breathing too loud.

So the boy learned silence. Learned how to fold himself into shadows. Learned that closets were safer than beds and that pretending to be dead sometimes worked better than crying. He slept with his knees to his chest, fingers over his mouth, counting seconds between footsteps. He didn’t go to school. Bruises invited questions, and questions invited consequences. No one wanted to see.

Neighbors turned their heads. Relatives stayed distant. Police passed the building every week and never once stopped.

Jisoo learned that the world was very good at ignoring one’s suffering.

His father wanted an alpha son. He spoke of it like a consolation prize, like fate owed him dominance for his misery. When Jisoo turned sixteen and his second gender revealed itself as omega, something in the man finally snapped.

He was drunk. He was high. He was looking at his son and seeing someone else entirely.

The way his eyes lingered was wrong. The way he smiled was worse. There was nothing paternal in it, nothing human.

“Don’t,” Jisoo sobbed, fighting with everything he had. “Please—stop—”

His father laughed. “You should be grateful,” he muttered. “This is what omegas are for.”

Jisoo clawed and cried, and begged until his throat burned, but the walls stayed quiet.

When it was over, nothing about the room felt real anymore.

He ran the moment he could stand. Barefoot, shaking, heart tearing itself apart with every step. He didn’t look back. He thought freedom might save him.

The system disagreed.

Unbonded omega. Minor. Property returned to guardian.

They sent him back.

The second time was worse, because now his father knew what he was. The man cornered him like prey, filthy hands already reaching, looking at him the way that made Jisoo want to tear his own skin off.

This time, Jisoo didn’t scream. He backed away, grabbing anything he could reach. “Don’t touch me,” he warned, voice shaking. “I’ll kill you.” He decided that if this was where he died, he would take the monster with him.

Then the gunshot came.

The sound split the room open.

His father’s body collapsed forward, heavy and lifeless, hitting the floor at Jisoo’s feet. Blood spread fast, soaking into the wooden floor. Jisoo froze, staring past the corpse to you standing in the doorway, gun still warm in your hand.

You didn’t look surprised. You didn’t look conflicted.

You looked finished.

Jisoo decided, you must’ve been a godsend. A bloody angel who came to save him. So, he fell to his knees. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He clutched at your coat, sobbing so hard it hurt, spilling every ugly truth he had swallowed his whole life. The beatings. The fear. The things no one stopped. The things he was afraid would follow him forever.

You listened without interruption.

“Please,” he begged. “I’ll do anything. I’ll work. I’ll be quiet. I’ll disappear if you want. Just— don’t leave me here.”