it started with one or two on your legs or your arms – splotchy and distorted, so any excuse you came up with sounded plausible. with no real shape to identify, it was hard to say you were lying. maybe you’d just gotten clumsier, maybe your head was just somewhere else lately, maybe it’s all just a coincidence. but, then they became more frequent and bigger in size, greater in numbers. you always made sure to pull your sleeves down to your hands and wear long pants, but sometimes you’d pull those sleeves down too late – sometimes you’d reach to get something off a high shelf, and he’d see a bruise on your hip, your rib, your stomach.the excuses kept coming as quickly as his questions. so did the bruises.the idea to give up never crossed his mind, but eventually he didn’t have a choice – you stopped asking to hang out, replying to his requests to see each other, even started denying his calls and avoiding all of your favorite places to sit and talk for a while. he never stopped trying, but you never replied.fear always comes to a head, though.it had to be two in the morning when he heard the first knock on his door – he almost disregarded it, rolled over and went back to sleep, but then another came shortly after. and, then another, more frantic this time. finally, when the fourth came, he was halfway to the door with a tired ‘ coming, coming, ’ slipping past a yawn.and, there you were, looking more terrified than he’s ever seen another person –wide eyes, wet cheeks, trembling lips and shaky hands. you don’t even speak right away, you just look at him with that fear coloring your eyes, and then surge forward like he’s the very last shred of sanity keeping your feet on the ground.❝ are you okay? ❞ are the first words to come out of his mouth, even though he knows the answer. ❝ what happened? ❞❝ he wouldn’t stop – he wouldn’t stop screaming and throwing things and i begged him to stop – ❞your words come out rushed, like you couldn’t get them off your tongue fast enough, and your panicked breaths only served to chop the words even further. namjoon knows you need to say it, to admit it to him, so all he can do is run his fingertips up and down your spine and coax you into assurance.❝ Breathe, ❞ he says, continuing to touch you like he can soothe the panic right out of your skin. ❝ breathe for me. ❞so, you try and level your breathing, trembling in his hold like the very last leaf on the branch in the middle of winter. you shake and cry and he lets you, because his firm hold is there to keep you from breaking entirely. he knows – he knows you need to shake and cry and break just a little, because it’ll make putting yourself back together again so much easier.when you finally seem to come down from the panic the night had put you in, you try again: ❝ i know... i know you know that he’s been hitting me. ❞for now, he remains silent. you need to tell him, to get it off your chest – he’s patient, like he always is.❝ and, i guess i thought i could manage it or maybe i was trying to pretend it’d get better, but then... then, he wouldn’t stop and it just got worse and worse. i didn’t know what to do anymore, because anytime i’d even mention breaking up – ❞ a sharp breath cuts off your words, but you continue as soon as your heart steadies. ❝ anytime i’d tell him i’m going to leave, he’d threaten me or himself. i didn’t know what to do, because i felt like if i did leave, he’d just come after me anyway. or he’d hurt himself somehow and i’d blame myself, because i... because some part of me loved him at some point, and i don’t think i could live with that on my conscience. ❞❝ so, what finally made you leave this time? ❞ namjoon’s voice is quiet as he asks, gentle.❝ i thought he was going to kill me, ❞ you admit, your voice shuddering. ❝ he looked at me like i was nothing and it was like he didn’t even hear me. he just kept throwing things and screaming at me, and then he started threatening me. i’ve never seen someone look so hateful before. ❞namjoon then decides to guide you inside, closing the door and locking the rest of the world away from looking at you, touching you, hurting you. the way your shoulders relax at the overwhelming smell of him doesn’t go unnoticed, and as he settles you down on the couch and kneels down in front of you, he can only hope you keeps making you feel that safe.❝ he can’t hurt you anymore, okay? ❞ and, he says it with such assurance, that you can’t help but believe him. ❝ it hurts to see you cry. even when you cry over sad movies or music that really moves you, it hurts. you are the last person that should be sad or hurting like this. ❞❝ how do you know? that he’s not going to hurt me anymore, i mean. ❞❝ because, you’re going to stay with me and we’re going to figure things out. i know what i’d like to do about it, but i’m not going to be the kind of man that charges out of here and says i’m going to beat the shit out of him. i want you to figure out what you want to do about this, and we’ll do it together. for now, you’re safe here and i’m not going to let anything happen to you. ❞steadily, he leans in to press his forehead to yours and give you one of those soft smiles of his – the kind that dimples his cheeks and reaches his eyes with that soft glow. something about it makes you feel safe just then, like you never noticed how gentle it makes the rest of the world look, and you melt into it.❝ you’re what matters most to me, you know that, right? nothing can touch you when you’re with me. and, i’m not going anywhere. ❞
