Mine to keep

The first time she noticed him, it was in a crowded café.
He sat alone in the corner, a black hoodie pulled low over his head, his coffee untouched.
But his eyes... they never left her.

She told herself it was nothing—cities were full of strangers. Yet she saw him again outside her office, on the subway platform, reflected in the glass of a store window. Always watching. Always close enough to vanish if she blinked.

Then came the messages, slipped under her apartment door.

You look beautiful in blue.
Don't talk to him again.

She tried to laugh it off, but unease settled in her bones.
One night, she found him waiting outside her building.
He didn't hide.
"I'm here to protect you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Before she could run, his hand closed gently—too gently—around her wrist.
And then the world became a blur of dark streets, cold air, and the hum of his car engine.

When she woke, the city was gone.

The cabin was small, isolated, surrounded by towering pines and silence so heavy it pressed on her chest. The only sounds were the creak of the floorboards and his footsteps.

"This is for your own good," he told her, standing in the doorway with that same unreadable gaze. "I can't protect you in the city."

⸻

Days bled into nights. There were rules.
Don't leave without him.
Don't talk to anyone he didn't approve of.
Don't lie to him.

"If you follow them," he said, "you'll be happy here."
His smile never reached his eyes.

She tried to resist—cold stares, silence, turning her back when he entered the room. But he was everywhere. Fixing the heater. Cooking her meals. Leaving books on the table, titles chosen with unsettling precision, as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

Once, she caught him watching her read, his lips curved in the faintest smile.
"What?" she snapped.

"You're starting to look at me differently," he said, his voice low, almost amused.

The terrifying part was... he was right.

⸻

The first crack in her resolve came one stormy evening. She was cooking pasta, hands trembling. When he returned, rain dripping from his hoodie, she found herself asking without thinking, "Are you cold?"

He froze. Nodded. She fetched a towel, standing on her toes to dry his hair. His gaze softened, almost vulnerable.

"You've never touched me like this before," he murmured.

"You've never let me see you like this before," she replied.

Something shifted in that moment, though she didn't yet have a name for it.

⸻

The outside world intruded only once—during a supply run. In the small-town store, a young man offered to help her reach a box on the top shelf. She barely had time to thank him before Seungmin's hand closed around her wrist.

"She's fine," he said coldly to the man, eyes sharp enough to cut.

Back at the cabin, she confronted him. "You overreacted."

He stepped closer, jaw tight. "Do you have any idea how he was looking at you?"

"He was just being polite—"

"There's no such thing as 'just polite' when it comes to you." He caged her against the counter, voice low and dangerous. "No one touches you. No one talks to you like that. You are mine."

Then his mouth was on hers—fierce, claiming, leaving no doubt that this wasn't about affection. It was possession.

⸻

The night it all changed, she was taken.
It happened so fast—a shadow in the trees, a hand over her mouth, the cold bite of rope around her wrists.

When she came to, she was in the back of a van. Her heart pounded as the door yanked open—and there he was.

Not the careful, composed figure she knew. This Seungmin was pure violence, eyes burning, jaw clenched. The men didn't stand a chance.

By the time he pulled her into his arms, blood on his hands, she was shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

He didn't speak on the drive back. Just kept one hand on her knee, as if reassuring himself she was still there.

That night, she didn't lock her bedroom door.

⸻

Winter wrapped the cabin in silence. She no longer counted the days. His presence was constant, a shadow and a warmth she couldn't untangle.

Sometimes, she caught him staring in the quiet hours of the night, as if memorizing her face.

Once, she asked, "When did you start following me?"

He smiled faintly. "Long before you noticed."

⸻

In the end, she stopped thinking of escape. Not because she couldn't... but because she didn't want to.

The city felt like another life. The cabin, his rules, his eyes watching her every move—this was reality now.

And in that reality, she was his. Entirely.

⸻

The last thing she remembered before falling asleep that night was his voice, low and certain against her ear.

"I told you from the start... I'm here to protect you. And I always will. Even from yourself."