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They sat on the bike as Namjoon started to drive toward the house. Y/N, however, was lost in her thoughts. Her mind replayed the moment when her brother had asked if Namjoon was her husband.

"Why did he say yes?" she thought, frowning in confusion. Her mind wandered further, and a warm feeling spread in her chest.

"If it is possible, I'd love to be his wife," she admitted silently, a smile tugging at her lips. As the thought settled, her grip around his waist tightened.

She leaned forward, resting her head against his broad back, letting his scent earthy and clean wrap around her like a comforting embrace.

The ride ended too soon, and they entered the apartment. Namjoon walked straight to the kitchen, placing the shopping bags on the counter.

He began unpacking the items and pulled out a neatly wrapped bar of soap.

"Go take a shower. It'll help to clean out the bacteria." he said, handing it to her. His voice was firm, yet his eyes held a gentle concern. "Then apply this to your wounds."

She frowned, tilting her head. "But I've already showered. Do I stink or something?" she asked, sniffing at her shirt with a playful pout.

Namjoon chuckled, the corners of his lips curling slightly. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, you don't stink," he replied softly. "But Soojin said this mild soap is necessary to prevent infection. It's for your own good."

Her frown melted away, and she nodded obediently. Taking the soap, she disappeared into the bathroom.

Namjoon settled himself on the couch, his focus shifting to the stack of students' assignments he had been grading. The room was quiet except for the faint rustling of papers.

After some time, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and her skin glowing from the steam. She wore loose, comfy pants and a bra, leaving her wounded skin accessible for the ointment. She caught her reflection in the mirror and froze.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she took in the scars scattered across her body. Some were faint, fading reminders of old wounds, while others were fresh and angry. The sight of them made her chest tighten, but she refused to cry. She didn't want to feel weak.

Opening the small box of ointment, she began applying it carefully. The first touch to the wound on her shoulder made her hiss in pain.

She gritted her teeth and moved to her collarbone, then to the tender skin of her cleavage, and finally her stomach. Each time, the cooling sensation of the ointment seared her like fire.

When it was time to tend to her back, she turned toward the mirror and gasped. Her back was worse than she had thought so many scars, so many memories etched into her skin.

Tears slid down her cheeks silently as a wave of shame and helplessness washed over her.

"I look so... ugly" she whispered to herself, the words a knife to her heart.

Her hands trembled as she tried to apply the ointment to the wounds on her back. Each reach sent a sharp sting through her body, and her fingers struggled to find the right spots.

Frustrated and overwhelmed, she began to sniffle softly, her silent cries echoing in the quiet apartment.

Namjoon's ears caught the faint sound. Concern creased his brows, and he set the papers aside, moving toward her room. He peeked through the slightly ajar door and stopped in his tracks.

There she was, trembling, tears streaking her face as she struggled to reach the wounds on her back.

The sight made his heart ache. Without a second thought, he entered the room, his footsteps quiet but deliberate.

Y/N flinched when she noticed him, her eyes wide with shock. She quickly grabbed a towel to cover herself. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean to"

He took a step closer, extending his hand. "Give it to me" he said, gesturing to the ointment. "I'll help you."

Her cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze. "I-It's okay" she mumbled. "I can do it myself."

Namjoon crouched slightly, lowering his voice to meet her eyes. "Y/N" he said firmly but gently. "I said give it to me. Stay still. I promise I won't hurt you."

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the small tube. But the warmth in his gaze, the unwavering sincerity, broke through her resistance. Slowly, she handed it to him, her hands trembling.

Namjoon took the ointment and knelt behind her. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he began applying the ointment to the wounds on her back. Each stroke of his fingers was precise, ensuring he didn't cause her unnecessary pain.

"I...it's okay...I'll do it" she said, her voice trembling as she looked up at him.

"I said I'll do this..now, stay still. I won't hurt you" he replied firmly, his voice softening just slightly at the end.

She hesitated, her fingers curling into fists as she mulled over his words. Then, with a slow nod, she allowed herself to relax under his watchful gaze.

His hands were steady as he started applying the ointment to her back. The coolness of the ointment sent a shiver down her spine, but it was nothing compared to the erratic pounding of her heart.

Namjoon paused for a moment, his hands still. "You're strong,
Y/N" he murmured, his voice low but steady. "These scars don't define you. They're a testament to your strength."

Her tears flowed freely now,
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she struggled to focus on anything but his presence. She felt so vulnerable and yet oddly, she trusted him.

"You... you should take this off, or it'll hurt you more" he said after a moment. His voice was quiet, hesitant, almost as if he were afraid of her reaction.

"Huh? What?" she stammered, turning her head slightly, though she still couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

"Umm... this" he clarified, his fingers brushing against the strap of her bra on her back.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Huh?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. Disbelief colored her tone as she stared at the wall, her mind reeling from his suggestion.

"Yes" he said, clearing his throat as though it would ease the awkwardness. "Or it'll hurt your wound, and I can't apply this properly. The wound is... hidden underneath it." His words were careful, measured, as he waited for her response.

She froze, her mind a whirlwind of emotions embarrassment, apprehension, and something else she couldn't quite name.
"I... I will do it... thank you," she mumbled, her voice shaky.

As she turned around, her hands trembling, she reached out to take the ointment from him, hoping to escape the situation. But his grip remained firm, and he didn't let go.

His dark eyes locked with hers for a moment, and she felt her breath hitch. "I said I'll help you" he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Her lips parted as if to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she turned back toward the wall, her hands clutching the towel on her chest tightly. The air around them felt thick, charged with unspoken emotions.

"I... I trust you" she whispered finally, her voice barely audible but filled with a strange, unsteady courage.

She reached behind her to unhook the strap, her fingers fumbling slightly. As she did, the towel wrapped around her body slipped and fell.

A gasp escaped her lips as she quickly grabbed the towel, pressing it tightly against her chest, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I'll do it" he said, his voice calm yet gentle. Her eyes widened at his offer, but the warmth in his gaze made her nod reluctantly, even as the heat in her cheeks deepened.

He moved closer, his hands brushing against her back, carefully unclasping the strap. The intimacy of the gesture made her heart race.

He left the strap resting on her shoulders, his focus now on her wound. She bit her lip, trying to calm her nerves as he dipped his fingers into the ointment and began to apply it to her back.

His touch was feather-light yet steady, and despite the sting of the wound, she couldn't ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

When he was done, he stood, walking toward his wardrobe. She turned her head slightly, watching as he pulled out a thin shirt. He walked back to her and stood in front of her, holding out the shirt with a quiet confidence.

"Wear this shirt" he said, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with concern. "It's thin, so the ointment won't stick on this."

She hesitated for a moment, then took the shirt from his hand, her fingers brushing his briefly. Her cheeks burned again and she quickly stood clutching the towel tighter as she hurried to the bathroom.

Inside, she leaned against the door, her heart pounding as though it might leap out of her chest. A smile tugged at her lips despite her embarrassment.

She looked at the shirt in her hands, tracing its soft fabric. "He's the only one who can make me smile like this" she murmured to herself, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The blush on her cheeks deepened as the thought filled her mind.

She pulled the shirt on, but when she looked in the mirror again, her breath hitched. The shirt clung to her slightly damp skin, revealing just enough to make her self-conscious.

Panic crept in at the thought of him seeing her like this. She grabbed the towel again, holding it against her chest for added coverage.

Peeking through the bathroom door, she scanned the room. He wasn't there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped out cautiously. But as she walked further into the room her eyes landed on him.

He was sitting on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, lost in thought. When he looked up and saw her his expression softened, and he patted the spot on the bed beside him.

She hesitated clutching the towel tightly, but eventually walked over and sat beside him. He reached out and took her hands in his, his touch warm and comforting.

Her grip on the towel slipped, and it fell from her hands, but his focus remained entirely on her face. She felt her cheeks burn again, mortified by her vulnerability.

"Tell me, who is he?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

She froze, her mind racing. She wanted to tell him everything, to trust him completely, but fear gripped her.

The thought of her videos being uploaded online, how much shame it would bring, left her trembling. She lowered her gaze to their entwined hands.

"I'm sorry, but I-I can't" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

His thumb traced soothing circles on her skin. "Trust me"
he said, his voice soft yet firm. "He deserves to be punished. Tell me. I promise I won't let him that you told me this.... You have nothing to worry about."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, her walls crumbling under his reassurance. "If...if I tell you, they'll upload my videos on the internet" she whispered, her voice breaking.

His jaw tightened, and she could see the storm of emotions in his eyes anger, frustration, and a deep need to protect her. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

She didn't resist, burying her face in his chest as his warmth surrounded her. His scent was intoxicating, calming her frayed nerves as tears silently slid down her cheeks.

After a while, he pulled back slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders. His gaze drifted down briefly on her chest and he closed his eyes as if fighting an internal battle.The effect she had on him was undeniable, but he quickly composed himself.

When she noticed his brief glance, her hands flew to her chest, her cheeks flaming. "I-I'm sorry" she stammered, hiding behind her hands.

He stood abruptly, taking a step back as if to put distance between them. "Sleep properly" he said, his voice strained. "If you need anything, call me. Good night." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the room.

She watched him go, her heart sinking and soaring all at once. As she lay down on the bed, a soft smile played on her lips. Thoughts of him filled her mind, and she found herself imagining a life by his side. But could that ever be possible?

She touched her lips lightly, her heart still racing. "What is this feeling?" she whispered to herself, her smile growing wider. Whatever it was, it made her feel alive, even in the midst of her pain.

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