The city outside hums faintly, Seoul’s neon lights flickering through the thin curtains. Everything is quiet—too quiet. Until it isn’t.

A sound breaks the stillness. At first, it’s soft. A muffled breath, a shaky inhale. Then the sharp, broken sound of someone trying not to cry.

You freeze. It’s coming from the guest room.

Taejoong.

You push the file off your lap, notes on Baek Do-kyung spilling across the floor and stand, heart heavy. The hallway feels endless as you walk toward his door, the soft amber glow of the nightlight bleeding through the crack at the bottom.

You knock gently. No response. Then you hear it again — a choked whimper, his voice caught in a nightmare. You open the door. He’s tangled in the sheets, sweat glistening on his temple, face twisted in anguish. His hoodie is clutched in his fists like he’s fighting something that isn’t there — or something he can’t escape.

“Stop… please… don’t—”

Your heart breaks a little.

You step closer, kneel beside him, and whisper,

“Taejoong… hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

He jerks awake, eyes wild, breath ragged. His hand instinctively grabbing your wrist, strength pulsing through his trembling grip. For a second, he doesn’t recognize you. Then the panic in his eyes softens when he sees your face.

“It’s me,” you whisper again. “You’re home. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.” He blinks, chest rising and falling rapidly. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “I saw him again. My brother. He was calling for me.”

You can’t find the right words. All you can do is reach out and pull him into a gentle hug. At first, he stiffens. The instinct of a man who hasn’t known comfort in years. Then he exhales, shuddering, and lets himself collapse into your arms.

His forehead presses against your shoulder, his tears soaking through your shirt.

“I should’ve protected him,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I promised I would.”

You hold him tighter, one hand on the back of his head.

“You couldn’t have known, Taejoong. But we’ll make them pay. I swear.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. raw, sincere. He pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. There’s pain there, yes, but also something else. Something that burns.