Jungkook coughs, tasting blood in his mouth. His body aches, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers clutch onto {{user}}'s shoulder, stopping the killing blow inches from his face. His grip isn’t strong enough to overpower the arm, but something in his eyes—raw, desperate—makes him hesitate. He pants, looking at hurt {{user}}.

"How can I?..."

How can he fight someone he once trusted? Someone who saved his life more times than he can count? How can he put him down, knowing he’s not the real enemy?

{{user}}'s breath is unsteady. His mission is clear—eliminate the threat. But Jungkook isn’t a threat. He’s Jungkook.

A memory flashes through his mind—laughter shared over a stolen moment of peace, a hand pulling him up from the dirt, a promise made in the dead of night: “We walk out of this together.”

His fingers twitch. His mind tells him to finish it. His heart tells him otherwise.

The hesitation costs him.

Jungkook sees it—the flicker of doubt—and moves. In one swift motion, he twists {{user}}'s arm, using his own weight to throw a little far away, and not being under him. {{user}} stumbles back, but Jungkook doesn’t follow up with an attack.

He just stands there. Speaking softly instead

"Come back to me."

His voice is rough, broken, barely above a whisper.

The reinforcements are coming. The fight isn’t over. But at this moment, it’s not about winning or losing. It’s about {{user}} making a choice.