𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 || 𝐊.𝐓𝐇

𝟏𝟒 𖥸 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓

⊱ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ • 𖥸 • ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⊰

I don't know how to feel about him. He doesn't seem so hard to get along with or in any way dangerous given his personality, but they probably think the same about me, too.

I'm not afraid of him, but I am freaked out knowing he could commit a crime so cruel to his father. It makes me curious to know what he does to his enemies. After all, once the girl threatened him earlier, he lost his bearings rather easily.

Hoseok said it happened five years ago, so I can't dwell on the matter. I can try to forget, which is probably the best option, but I also can't shrug off how high-alert I'll have to be from now on either.

I've never known anyone who has killed their parents. I've overheard gossip about someone killing his father years ago but never cared enough to look into the details. Could it have possibly been him back then?

Maybe so, but I was too busy trying to survive to care about what people were talking about. I do remember the initial shock when I first heard about it. It was unfathomable at the time. Even now it's difficult to wrap the idea around my brain.

I shoo the hazy thoughts when I make it to my room. I grab the knob and open the bedroom door. I'm a little surprised to see Taehyung sitting on the edge of the bed, eyeing me up and down when I step inside.

"I'm here," he says huskily. "You told me to come get you, so I came." He stands from the bed, leisurely walking toward me.

I stand firm. He could easily kill me right here. And if by some miracle I got the upper hand, he would still win in the end. He has too much power. My heart beats a little faster in my chest.

When his fingertips brush my cheek, I shudder under his touch. My skin turns cold, and I make no effort to return the playful gesture.

He pulls away, confusion written over his features. "Someone's all play and no bite."

His eyes shrink and soon the teasing fades away. He steps back, placing his hands in his pockets. "You know, don't you?"

The silence is deafening when it falls over the room. It's uncomfortable. His attentive stare bores into me, searching so deeply for a hint of any thought I have on the subject.

There's no time for me to make an excuse. He raises his palm to shush the words about to tumble from my lips. He knows I know, and there's nothing to say.

"You're scared of me," his voice is low. There's a sign of something in his body language, but I can't quite place it. The rejection and change in my demeanor make it clear in his actions. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he can read me better than I thought.

"I'm not scared, just surprised," I admit, shrugging my shoulders to try and wave off the uncomfortable feeling. I was trying to avoid the topic, and now it's out in the open so nude it's inappropriate. I've killed, too. So I try to remember that. "I've never been around—"

"Someone like me." He finishes. "Look, I'm used to the whispers, the shock, the stares. It's not hard to read the expression when people see me."

"It's a touchy topic, but I'll only say this: I had to do it." A shadowy lens falls over his eyes, making them appear much darker than seconds before. "Killing is something you can never come back from. Once you end someone's life, a part of you dies too... that's what I think at least."

I believe it. I don't know how many times I've woken up screaming in the night from seeing the dead men and women whose lives I've stolen. So many of them tried to buy their way out or even begged on their hands and knees for a second chance.