The house was quiet when they arrived—too quiet.

The tension was thick, clinging to the air like smoke. Yn, unconscious in Jungkook’s arms, stirred just slightly as they stepped through the doors. Her hair was matted with sweat, and blood clung to her clothes. Jin was already calling for a first aid kit, his voice unusually tight.

“Lay her on the couch,” he said, his doctor-side taking over.

Jungkook did as he was told, eyes locked on her face, expression unreadable. He crouched beside her while Jin carefully began tending to her wounds—wiping dried blood from her forehead, cleaning her raw knuckles, dabbing antiseptic gently onto the cuts.

And then, Jin paused.

His nose flared slightly. He leaned down and smelled her breath—eyes narrowing as realization dawned. Without a word, he stood up and disappeared into his medical room, coming back moments later with a small injection vial and syringe.

He injected her quickly, whispering, “Just something to counter the remains of the drug in her system.”

Jungkook stood up, fists clenched at his sides, veins bulging in his neck. He turned to leave, but Jin stopped him.

“Stay,” he said quietly. “Everyone should hear this.”

Minutes later, the living room was filled with the sound of rustling fabric and heavy breaths. The six remaining members sat around—no one cracking jokes, no teasing, no banter. Just grim silence.

Jin stood in front of them, his arms crossed, voice steady but cold. “She was drugged.”

Everyone stilled.

Jin’s jaw tightened. “Jake Watson… he laced her drink. I could smell the remnants of it—heavy sedative, probably mixed with something to dull resistance. He drugged her because he intended to…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

A beat of silence. Then J-Hope’s voice rang out, low but clear. “And she still managed to save herself. Fought him off. After everything she’s been through.”

Taehyung leaned forward, fists pressed to his knees. “She didn’t have a weapon. Not even a blade.”

“She was the weapon,” Yoongi muttered, eyes on the floor.

Namjoon’s face was unreadable, but his hands were shaking. “And she did it alone. While we were all outside.”

And then, Jungkook spoke.

His voice was hoarse—like something inside him had cracked. “I sent her to him.”

Every head turned.

“I told her to play the part. Told her to seduce him. I didn’t warn her. I didn’t watch her closely enough. I got distracted for a second, and that second nearly got her—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “—ruined.”

Guilt clawed through his chest like a serrated blade. It was a foreign feeling. Regret wasn’t something Jungkook lived with—not when he ran a mafia empire. But this wasn’t about power, or control, or death.

This was about her.

A girl with fire in her eyes and bruises on her soul, who had survived things that should have broken her.

A girl who was supposed to trust him.

Jungkook stood abruptly and paced away, running his hands through his hair. “If I had just—watched her. If I’d gone with her. Or anyone had gone…”

“But she didn’t break,” Jimin said softly, eyes dark and thoughtful. “Even drugged, she didn’t give up. She tore him apart.”

“And what does that say about us?” Jungkook snapped. “We’re supposed to protect her. I promised—”

“You care,” Namjoon interrupted, voice low but calm. “That’s what it says.”

Everyone went silent again.

Jin glanced back toward the hallway, where Yn lay asleep in the room beside them. “She’ll be out for a while. The sedative and the crash will hit her hard. But she’ll wake up. And when she does…”

“She needs to know,” Taehyung said, eyes burning. “That we won’t let something like this happen again.”

Jungkook nodded faintly, jaw tight. “She won’t be alone anymore. Not for a second.”

Because tonight, she didn’t just survive.

She proved that even in a room of monsters—she was the one they should fear.

And the one they would protect.

Next morning....

The gym echoed with the harsh sound of her fists slamming into the bag—again and again and again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Each hit carried a storm—rage, shame, and something far more painful: disgust. Not just for Jake. But for herself. For freezing. For trusting. For feeling.

She didn’t notice the blood at first, not until it began dripping onto the mat below, staining it red.

Her hair clung to her damp face, skin flushed from the burning shower, but her fists didn’t stop. The pink dress was gone, replaced by loose sweats and a black tank top, but in her mind, she was still in that goddamn dress.

Still trapped under his disgusting gaze.

Still running to the bathroom, vomiting, gasping, scrubbing herself raw.

And then the door opened.

Footsteps. More than one.

They all came.

Jungkook stood at the front, face pale, eyes dark and locked onto her. The rest of the members froze behind him, staring in silence as she poured herself into each blow, knuckles raw and split.

“Yn…” Jungkook spoke gently at first. “You need to stop. You need rest.”

Thud.

She didn’t look at him.

“I said stop,” his voice firmer now, stepping closer. “Your hands—Yn, stop. Please.”

Still nothing.

He moved quickly, standing between her and the bag. She raised her fist again—

“Yn!” he snapped, grabbing her wrist mid-air. “Enough!”

And that’s when she snapped too.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Her voice shattered the air like glass.

Jungkook staggered back as she yanked her arm from his grip. Her eyes—red, wild, full of venom—locked onto him like he was no one. Her chest rose and fell with sharp, angry breaths.

The room went silent.

Nobody dared move.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. His jaw tightened, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were filled with something raw. Not anger. Not even guilt.

Pain.

He took a step closer, slowly, carefully. His voice came softer now.

“…Yn.”

Her lips trembled slightly. Her hands were trembling too—bruised and bleeding. But it wasn’t from the bag.

It was from memory.

“You’re not him,” she said finally, voice breaking, barely above a whisper. “But he touched me. He touched me like—like he did. Like my uncle did infact worse.”

Jimin sucked in a breath. Namjoon’s head fell.

Jungkook didn’t say a word. Not yet.

“I thought I buried it,” she whispered, biting her lip. “That part of me. I buried him under roses, didn’t I?” Her eyes glazed over. “But it’s still here. Still rotting in me.”

She looked down at her bloody knuckles. “I hate this body. I hate how weak it felt last night.”

“Yn,” Jungkook stepped forward, gently now. “You weren’t weak.”

“I was drugged, Jungkook!” she screamed suddenly. “I couldn’t even stand! I ran into the bathroom like some helpless little girl!”

“You survived,” he said sharply. “You fought. You didn’t let him win.”

Her eyes filled, but she looked away.

“You want to destroy him?” he asked. “Good. I want that too. But don’t destroy yourself in the process. Don’t kill yourself trying to erase what he did.”

She clenched her jaw.

“I told you not to let emotions in,” she muttered. “But I’m feeling everything, and it’s burning me alive.”

He took one more step. “Then let us help you carry it.”

She looked at him then—truly looked.

He didn’t pity her. He didn’t flinch from her pain.

He stood in it with her.

And somewhere behind the pain and the rage, she realized: she wasn’t alone anymore.

Not in this war.

Not in this darkness.

Not in herself.

And slowly, her fists unclenched. The blood still dripped, but she didn’t feel it. Not as much as the weight lifting—just a little.

She turned away, quietly whispering, “Get me bandages.”

Jungkook nodded, already moving.

This wasn’t over.

But neither was she.

Yn had barely shut the door when she heard the soft knock again—three light taps, hesitant.

She let out a deep, frustrated sigh, unrolling the bandage tighter around her bleeding hand.

“Why can’t you just leave me alon—”

Her voice cut off the moment she opened the door.

It wasn’t Jungkook.

It wasn’t any of the boys.

It was Annie.

The little girl stood there in her bunny pajamas, her big doe eyes blinking up at her with a quiet kind of worry.

Yn’s throat tightened instantly.

Annie’s pout deepened. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Yn shook her head quickly, forcing a small smile. “No, no, baby. Come here.”

She tried to roll the bloody gauze off the table, hiding it behind her leg, but Annie’s eyes flicked straight to her hands.

“Don’t hide it,” Annie said softly, making Yn pause. “I saw it already.”

Yn’s smile cracked. She turned her head away, not wanting the little girl to see the heat rising in her eyes again.

Annie walked in without another word, quietly settling in front of her. She looked small compared to Yn, but something about her presence felt... grounding.

“You’re very strong, you know that?” Annie said, her voice like a whisper and sunlight all at once.

Yn didn’t answer.

Annie continued, swinging her legs a little as she talked. “You scare the big boys sometimes, but I know it’s not because you’re mean. It’s because you’re protecting yourself.” She looked up again. “That’s what strong people do. Kookie used to say that.”

Yn’s lips trembled slightly, but she said nothing.

“You’re like a shield. Like a superhero,” Annie added, playing with the edge of the bandage roll. “But even superheroes need someone to give them a hug.”

And then, without warning, she leaned forward and wrapped her tiny arms around Yn’s waist.

Yn froze.

Completely.

Her body locked up, her hands hanging mid-air, unsure of what to do. Her mind spiraled with alarms, triggers, and instincts that screamed don’t touch me—but Annie wasn’t a threat.

She wasn’t a monster.

She was just… warmth.

Little arms. Innocent comfort.

No one had hugged Yn like that since

Since her.

Trembling slightly, she hesitated… then slowly—slowly—let her hand hover, before resting lightly on Annie’s back.

And she didn’t break.

She didn’t flinch.

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

She felt something like peace.

Not perfect. Not whole.

But maybe—just maybe—safe.

“Thank you,” Yn whispered, her voice barely audible.

Annie didn’t answer.

She just held her tighter.

The hallway outside Yn’s door was silent—eerily so.

One by one, the boys had gathered there, quietly, unintentionally, as if something had drawn them.

Jimin was the first. He’d come looking for Annie when she disappeared from her room, only to hear soft voices from behind Yn’s door. He stayed, curious.

Then Taehyung joined, leaning against the wall without a word.

Namjoon paused mid-step, frowning at the tension in the air and the expressions on their faces. He followed their gaze.

Soon Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi stood too—arms crossed, brows knit, eyes trained on the crack in the door.

And then Jungkook came.

He didn’t say a thing.

Just stepped beside them… and looked.

The door wasn’t fully closed, just slightly ajar. Enough for all of them to see Yn—knees drawn close, bruised hands trembling, body still too guarded—and Annie, her tiny arms wrapped around her like she had nothing to fear.

And Yn… she froze at first. Like she always did when someone touched her.

But then she softened.

Then she gave in.

And something changed.

No sharp edges. No fire in her eyes. No walls.

Just a girl holding a child.

And letting herself be held back.

The silence in the hall was thick—none of them wanted to speak, break the moment, or admit the things they were feeling. But they all felt it.

Taehyung blinked slowly. “That’s the first time I’ve seen her… not look like she’s fighting a war.”

Yoongi shoved his hands in his pockets. “She looks like she can breathe.”

Jin smiled faintly. “Annie has that effect. She’s magic.”

And Jungkook…

He didn’t say anything.

But his eyes didn’t move. Not for a second.

He watched the way Yn gently curled her hand around Annie’s tiny back. The way her eyes fluttered shut—not in fear, but in something close to peace.

It hit him then—deep in his chest.

He always thought he was the one protecting them both.

But maybe… they were saving each other in ways he never could.

The little girl who taught him how to feel again.

The broken girl who refused to stay broken.

And now… they were each other's light.

Jungkook felt something burn in his ribs. Not pain. Not fear.

But devotion.

Fierce. Unshakeable.

The urge to protect them—both of them—grew like wildfire in his chest.

His little girl.

His fighter.

And maybe... just maybe...

His home.

To be continued...