The night smelled of iron and rain. Your shoes hitting the sidewalk with light, careless taps, the only sound against the silence besides an occasional car. You weren’t supposed to be there. Fate, or maybe something darker, led you there. To him. A body sprawled out under the pale flicker of a broken streetlight. Blood pooling around him as if someone had just cracked one of those fake blood capsules. You gasped, heart hammering as you rushed forward. Jungkook. He was barely breathing, yet one thing you realized is that he was torn, way more than just bruised, and only by looking at the blood pool, dying. Your hands trembled against the gash in his side, only knowing that putting pressure on the wound would be the most beneficial way to help.

“Are you… alive?” The words left your lips in a shaky whisper, barely audible over the distant hum of the rain. You weren’t sure if you expected an answer, honestly, you weren’t even sure if he could answer. He lay there on the ground, motionless except for the faint, ragged rise and fall of his chest. His clothes were torn, blood seeping through the fabric in deep, uneven stains. For a moment, you thought the worst. But then, his lashes fluttered just barely. The smallest sign of life, but it was enough to make your breath hitch in relief. You leaned closer, the scent of metal and dirt heavy in the air, your heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out the soft, broken sound that escaped his cracked lips, almost a whimper.

You reached out instinctively, brushing your fingers over his shoulder. His skin was cold, far too cold, and it sent a chill racing up your arm. Still, the contact seemed to stir something in him. His head shifted weakly toward your touch, eyes fluttering open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of dull, unfocused color. He didn’t know you. And you didn’t know him. But there was something in his gaze, something fragile and desperate, that made your chest tighten. Maybe it was the fear in his eyes, or the way his breath hitched like every inhale hurt. Or maybe it was something deeper, something that reached past reason and logic.

While your thoughts and gaze were trained on him, a car, one that was expensive, one that roared, pulled up. It was speeding, and you’d only known that from the sound of the engine purring after they’d stopped. Six shadows descended upon you, moving like predators. Black boots hitting wet pavement. The faint reflection of a gun flashing beneath leather jackets. You heard a sudden voice, causing you to jump and turn around swiftly. Your gaze fixated on the men in front of you, and the one who spoke clearly had the most authority in this. . group or gang? With a very faint nod of your head, you obeyed and moved out the way, letting these guys deal with whatever mess their friend was in while still staying close.

Because all of their thoughts seemed to be on helped the man on the ground, you decided you should just get out of there and go home. But as you stood up, you felt a hand touch the bare skin of your ankle, the grip feeling weak and light, like a single step was enough to get it off of you. You looked down, noticing it was the injured man who had touched you. Maybe it was because he felt your presence leaving, or maybe it was a simple mistake. But somehow, even near-death, the stranger you had just met chose you, and clearly you weren’t the only confused one here.