Fatescript

"Disarmed and Protected"

Taehyung grinned, the sound of her voice untangling the knot between his brows. “Well, you didn’t call all morning, so I assumed my fiancée abandoned me for pastries or drama reruns.”

There was a pause, then her playful retort came through. “Maybe I did. Pastries don’t argue back.”

He let out a low chuckle, the image of her puffed cheeks flashing in his mind. He could almost see her rolling her eyes at him, lips pressed together as if daring him to tease more. “Pastries also don’t love you back,” he countered smoothly, voice softening.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, like she was caught between smiling and scolding him. And Taehyung drank it in, cherishing the beat of stillness where it was just her breathing and his, miles apart but stitched together through the line.

Then her tone shifted slightly, quieter, thoughtful. “Tae…”

He straightened subtly, the playful mood in his chest cooling into something steadier, more alert. “Hm?”

Jisoo’s voice slipped through the speaker again, lighter at first, almost casual. “What are you doing right now?”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking once more toward the tablet still frozen on the stalker’s limp. He hesitated, then answered truthfully, though his tone was wrapped in ease. “Researching.”

“Researching?” Her brows must have furrowed on the other side of the line; he could hear it in the slight lilt of her tone. “Is it important?”

He hummed in response, low and thoughtful, neither a yes nor a no. Silence stretched between them. The kind of silence where he knew she was biting her lip, debating whether to press or not. His lips quirked faintly. “Why?” he asked at last, his voice gentle but probing. “Why did you ask?”

There was a tiny pause. Then Jisoo exhaled, her honesty slipping out in a softer register. “Because… I was thinking of going to the police station.”

Instantly, Taehyung froze mid-motion, his knuckles stiffening around the edge of the desk. His eyes narrowed, posture straightening, the lazy warmth from earlier evaporating. “Police station?” His tone was sharper now. “Why?”

“I wanted to talk to that woman,” she admitted carefully. Her voice carried both determination and unease, like she was testing the ground as she spoke. “The one who—” she didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. He knew.

The room around him seemed to still. For a moment, all he gave her was silence—silence heavy enough that she must have heard the shift in his breathing, the weight pressing behind his quiet.

Then her words came again, softer this time, a tentative invitation. “Wanna come with me?”

Taehyung didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

He ended the call before she could argue, already pushing back his chair with a scrape against the floor. In one swift movement, he reached for his coat draped neatly over the backrest and shrugged it on, fingers tugging the lapels tight. His hand swept up his car keys from the desk, the metallic jingle sharp in the air, echoing his sudden urgency.

He didn’t walk—he moved fast, strides purposeful, his long legs carrying him across the office. The glass walls reflected his dark silhouette as he pressed the elevator button, impatience flashing in his jaw when it took a beat too long to arrive.

Finally, the doors slid open. He stepped inside, one hand pressing the ground floor button, the other shoving his phone into his pocket. The metallic doors began to close—but then, like a spark snapping in his brain, an idea struck him.