"Careful, I scratch and bite." Her face inches from his, patiently waiting for him to give in.
But, he doesn't give in, not yet. He takes one step closer and bends down to whisper in her ear, "you'll beg and crawl too.... I promise."
______________...
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It has been a long time since Jisoo last saw Jacob. He's less attractive than her memory had allowed her to believe. She wonders if that's because she genuinely cannot stand him now and thinks he's the worst kind of scum on the planet. Or if it's because he's not aging very well.
The last time someone was in her apartment when she walked in, it went quite differently than this. Because RM wasn't hiding, but he did not make himself known right away as well.
Jacob is standing in her kitchen with the lights on, some of her wine poured into a glass in front of him, and her chef's knife in his hand. He's not even looking at her.
She reaches for her gun.
"Ah, ah," he says, shaking his head. "I wouldn't."
He holds the knife out, blade shining as it moves in her direction. She thinks she could beat him on the draw before he could do much, but there's less than six feet between them and she won't risk it.
"May I have a glass?" she asks, because she won't be afraid of him. She won't.
If he wanted her dead, he would've killed her the second she walked in. And he likely wouldn't do it in her own house. She knows his style. This would be careless, but not careless enough for him. Even when it's clear he's trying to antagonise RM with this stunt.
He laughs, anyway, pours her some wine and passes the glass to her. She takes a drink.
"How can I help you?" She speaks after taking a sip.
"It's funny," he says, looking around her apartment. God, she hates men like this. Ones who think they're more charming than they are. Ones who make threats and then act casual. "I expected to find some of his things here."
Unlike the 'he' Jacob is talking about, Jisoo will not let him rattle her and get her to admit to anything at all.
"Whose?" she asks, then sips her wine as she watches him. She should just fucking shoot him. But he steps closer. Too close. And drags the dull edge of the blade across her throat as he breathes right in her face. It makes her breath ragged. It makes her scared. She doesn't want to show it.
One flick of his wrist and he'd be drawing blood.
"Shame you chose the other brother," he says, and she's going to need eight showers after this. His free hand goes to the other side of her neck. A caress as opposed to a threat. She wants to puke. "We could have had so much fun."
She regrets listening to his warning about her gun.
Instead of asking him what he wants, she says, "You had your chance," and it's a fucking bold faced lie, but he's got few enough brain cells that they become clouded by his ego and he doesn't seem to notice. "What can I help you with?"
He looks down at her body, seems to have his eyes fixed where her blouse is unbuttoned at her sternum. She tries to make no sudden movements, because even as she just breathes, he presses the blade harder against her throat like a reminder. Were it the other side of the knife, she'd be bleeding out on her kitchen floor.
