jungsu paced the room, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting a war with himself. “you shouldn’t have run,” he muttered, his voice low but tight, like he was holding something back. you sat on the edge of the bed, your wrists no longer tied but still sore from earlier. “i wouldn’t have had to run if you didn’t keep me here,” you shot back, the sharpness in your tone a poor cover for the tremor in your voice.

he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing. “you don’t understand,” he said, softer this time, but the words were laced with frustration. “look,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “i’m not.. i’m not trying to hurt you.” the silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. when he finally moved, it was to set a plate of food on the small table near you. “eat something,” he murmured, almost an afterthought.

you hesitated but reached for it, your hunger outweighing your pride. as you ate in silence, you caught him watching you, his expression unreadable. “why are you doing this?” you finally asked, your voice quieter now. he looked away, jaw tightening. “because i don’t know how else to keep you safe.” the words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, leaving you more confused than ever.

despite his actions, there was no denying the small moments of gentleness—when he handed you a blanket after a cold night, or when his hand brushed yours while giving you water. the edges of his demeanor were rough, but underneath, there was something that made you wonder if his intentions, however misguided, were born from something more than control.