Fatescript

"Disarmed and Protected"

Hours passed like minutes. Each loop of the footage felt endless. His eyes ached from staring, but he didn’t stop. He barely noticed the throbbing in his temples, barely registered the growl in his stomach, the dry taste in his mouth. Nothing mattered except the screens in front of him, the possibility of uncovering the truth. Every frame was a piece of a puzzle he would solve, every shadow a potential threat he would eliminate.

Anger simmered beneath his exhaustion, sharp and electric. It made his muscles tense, made his fingers curl around the edge of the tablet until the screen blurred under the pressure. He could feel the edge of madness creeping in, that obsessive need to see every angle, to know every movement, to never let his guard down. He would not rest until he had answers.

And yet, amidst the rage and the exhaustion, there was something else—a burning, quiet love that anchored him. Every movement, every thought, every sleepless hour was for her. She didn’t ask for protection, didn’t beg for security, but he was giving it all the same. Because she was his. Because she trusted him. Because he refused to let anyone or anything threaten her again.

He scrolled through another neighborhood camera, a quiet sigh escaping him as the footage again proved mundane. Nothing. No clue, no lead, nothing that explained the discrepancy between the stalker in the previous footage and the woman apprehended earlier. And yet, he did not falter. The fire in his chest refused to be extinguished. He leaned forward, shoulders hunched, scanning once more, replaying each frame, enhancing each image, analyzing every small gesture, every shift of weight, every moment that could hold a hint.

Finally, his fingers paused over the tablet. He leaned back, eyes closed for a fraction of a second, feeling the ache in his head pulse sharply. But even then, even in that brief respite, his mind raced ahead. He thought of how he would confront the real stalker when he found her, how he would ensure she could never harm Jisoo again, how he would make the streets around her safe.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the blank spaces between the feeds, imagining where she could be, where the real threat might be hiding. His chest tightened, a mix of anxiety and resolve.

For Jisoo, he would go beyond reason, beyond fatigue, beyond hunger. For her, he would continue, tirelessly, obsessively, until the night revealed its secrets, until the stalker was found, until she could finally sleep safely.

And so he continued, scrolling, analyzing as the night stretched on endlessly. For him, sleep could wait. For him, meals could wait. For him, everything could wait. But Jisoo’s safety—her peace—was non-negotiable.

***

The shrill sound of the alarm pierced the silence of the room, dragging Taehyung from the shallow, uneasy slumber he had finally surrendered to only a couple of hours ago. His hand shot out clumsily, smacking the nightstand until his fingers found the device and silenced it. He groaned, sinking back against the pillow, his body protesting every movement.

His head throbbed mercilessly, the weight of exhaustion settling deep into his bones. Only two hours of sleep—that was all he could manage before the pounding ache had forced him to stop last night. His eyelids still felt heavy, as if they carried lead, and his muscles ached from the tension of sitting hunched over screens for so long.

For a fleeting second, he considered closing his eyes again, stealing just a little more rest. But reality tugged him back quickly, cruel and unrelenting. He had obligations—an important meeting with other CEOs scheduled for the morning. Responsibilities couldn’t be ignored, no matter how badly he wanted to stay buried beneath the covers.

With a deep breath, he forced himself upright, wincing as a sharp pulse of pain shot through his skull. He ran a hand through his messy hair, fingers pressing against his temple as though that could ease the headache. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with fatigue.