𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙨

You were no chump

I stand awkwardly in the crowd as Sangwoo in some random girl with a cringe Y2k heart sticker or something on her face sing a romantic duet. 

I tense when I realize something terrifying. I have an itching feeling of jealousy in the back of my skull aimed directly at the girl. I dwell for a while subconsciously while focusing fully on the girl.

Eventually the show ends while I angrily sit in the stall of the previously empty bathroom before Sang fucking woo himself walks in. 

"Y/N sweetheart. come out." He says in the familiar, smooth as honey voice and I shudder at the mere thought of slight attraction to him. 

'God I hate myself, and im not just making an edgy joke this time.' I before promptly finishing my inner dialogue. I sigh one last time before opening the bathroom stall door. 

"So Sangwoo... Why did you perform our song with that girl?"

Sangwoo smiles his similar grin and gently places his hand on my hip and pulls me closer to him, "Jealous much?"

I frown and pull back quickly. 'Fuck, that came out wrong.'

"No, I was simply surprised you'd get such an off-tone girl to sing with you is all, she even froze up. Yall now me personally; I would never."

"Ya know Y/N I truly wonder who's the real asshole here."

My face contorts into an expression of pure disbelief. "I know the bitch with dead bodies in his basement AIN'T judging another person's morality." Right, this dude has DEAD people. Like actual dead people in his basement. 'Holy shit.' It feels so surreal, like this doesn't feel real at all.

My inner turmoil is yet again cut off by the bleached blonde grabbing my lower face in his hand and sort of squeezing my face like when your mom would get mad and grab you to shut you up. 

"You're getting very ballsy now adays... It's cute but remember your damn place." He speaks low and cold into my ear, and I can't help but shudder and fear as the threats and images of Yoon Bum and the woman in the basement flash through my mind's eye. 

"Now hurry along my dear! We're going home."

Home? I believe the word you're looking for is prison. But this time I make the executive, fear derived choice to keep my smart-ass comment to myself. Its times like this when I truly wonder why people fetishize dark romance where the lead is a 5-foot-tall white woman with mafia bosses or rich men always all over her and stalking her, before moving on to rape her. Yet it almost always ends up as a wedding where Stockholm syndrome kicks into full gear and the lead falls in 'love' with the psychopath.

Yet I must state this clearly. 

I have no intention to fall for this crazy son of a bitch.