My heart gallops in my chest, my mind swirling, at a loss of what to do when Jungkook turns to me. His usual stormy-brown eyes are almost black, his demeanor tight and tense, a complete shadow of the man that had been before me just moments ago.

"Stay in here," he grinds out, not angry with me, but preparing for whatever is about to happen, and I nod, numbly, unsure what else to do. "Do not leave, do you hear me? Do not leave this room, no matter what," he reiterates, cutting the distance between us and slamming his mouth on mine.

It's the briefest of moments, and I'm desperate for more from him, but I have no idea what's coming or what I'm supposed to do about it. Without a backward glance, he storms for the door, closing it quietly behind him as I'm left floundering on my own.

Silence consumes me, fear taking hold of my throat as I try to calm my breathing, but it's useless. Glancing around the room helplessly, I spy the monitors on the wall and quickly rush over, attempting to see what's going on. Each screen is split into four, and there are six monitors in total, so there's a lot to search through.

Scrambling to find anything at all, I give up, my gaze not really focusing, and I switch to pacing in front of them instead. Terror creeps up my spine, stiffening my jaw, and rendering me helpless as I look to the door once more.

Is he definitely going to be safer out there without me?What use am I to him in here?The thought makes me scoff, because really, what fucking use would I be to him out there either?

I'd just be a burden, causing more issues than necessary, and I've already brought this level of danger to him. Guilt freezes me in place, my hands lifting to my hair as I pull at the ends, desperation begging me to drop to my knees. Until I see Jungkook on the screen right in front of me and my heart lurches in my chest as my feet carry me to him.

My fingers extend, running over the monitor like that will offer me any kind of comfort. His back is pressed against the wall in the lounge, the room on the other side of the kitchen. His gun is pressed against his chest, hands raised together as his eyes close, like he's trying to cut off the rest of his senses to focus on one.

His hearing.

Tapping my finger on my chin, I search my brain for any way I can help him. When a gunshot rings out, making me jolt backward and stumble, horror sinks into my heart as I search for Jungkook on the monitors.

Oh, God. Please, no. Please.

My pleas are answered when I find him in the same position, only now he's crouched down a little. I don't know who took the shot, but his stance tells me no one's won yet.

Before I can process what I'm doing, my feet carry me to the door, but when my hand wraps around the handle, I halt in place. I don't want to go against what he said, but I can't bear the seperation when fucking gunshots are popping off.

Pressing my ear to the wood, I hold my breath, hoping to hear something, anything at all, but all I get is the sound of my pulse pounding in my ear.

I try to look at the monitor from here, the sight of a blur moving across one of the images catching my attention, but I can't piece together where they are. Once again I pace back toward the screens, a scream burning my throat with the need to explode past my lips in a mixture of anger and frustration, when the door I just walked away from swings open.

Gaping in horror at the man standing before me, dressed head to toe in black, including a balaclava that covers his face, I stand frozen in place.

His gun is aimed in my direction, his finger hovering over the trigger as his legs shift to shoulder-width apart. I've never paid so much attention to detail before, never needed to, but now, in my last fucking moments, I'm taking it all in.

I gulp, taking my last breath, and just as my eyes are half closed, accepting my fate, Jungkook barrels into the hitman from behind, knocking them both to the floor in a heap. My mouth puckers like a fish, shock and fear not relenting as I watch the two men grunt, fighting for control of the situation. All while I watch, a bystander in the madness that is unraveling before me. A madness I created, and I refuse to let Jungkook get hurt because of me.

"You came here for me, not him," I growl, my voice gruffer than I expect as I take a step toward them. To my surprise, the hitman lifts his head to look at me. He's crouched over Jungkook's body, but the distraction allows Jungkook to knock him off, the two of them quickly going back to forgetting about my presence.

I take another step closer, balking as the hitman smashes Jungkook in the face with his gun, making blood splatter around him. No. Fuck no. I refuse to allow this to continue.

"That's enough," I yell, at the same time they both shift their guns, aiming at one another with a sense of determination swarming around them.

Pop.

Pop.

Two guns. Two shots. Two wounds.

Fear finally brings me to my knees in slow motion, pain rattling through me even though I'm not the one injured. My pain is for him, for Jungkook, as my chest squeezes so hard I think I may stop breathing.

Crawling on my hands on knees, uncaring for my own safety any longer, I find them slumped side by side. Blood pools around the two of them, a scene I've only ever come close to seeing in movies before.

A sob bursts from my lips when I find the bullet holes. One is lodged perfectly between the masked man's eyes, a hole in his balaclava to match the one in his skull from Jungkook's nine-millimeter firearm, or whatever he fucking called it. I can't remember. The other has me reaching out a shaky hand to stroke my thumb over Jungkook's cheek.

How did we go from celebrating a win in regards to Yoongi and the secret club, to this? This blood now on my selfish, guilt-ridden hands?

My sob turns to an almighty cry as I peer down at the man who has somehow managed to change my entire life in the space of a few days.

The man who isn't looking at me.

The man who doesn't seem to be breathing.

The man with a bullet hole in his chest.