Hilde | Kim Taehyung fanfiction ✓

arya

7

Frustrated and fuming, I stomped my way back home in the chilly midnight air. Wrapping my arms around myself for warmth did little to ease the cold, and the weight of the knife in my pants served as a reminder of my failure. I'd been dreaming of this moment since I was a child, and now that Novikov was within reach, how could I let someone with the look of a lost puppy in his eyes distract me?

He seemed like he was after Novikov too, which explained why he tried to stop me. I could have easily dealt with him and focused on Novikov afterwards. Now, he knew about me and my intentions. I couldn't afford to wait any longer.

What if Novikov had already fled the city, or worse, the state or country? What if he'd put a hit out on me? What had I gotten myself into? What if I'll be dead before I'll be able to avenge my family? The thought churned my stomach.

Uncertainty followed me home from the Sapphire, each step stained with unanswered questions. Quietly, I slipped inside the house, careful not to disturb Edith. Upstairs, I stashed the knife under my bed and hastily grabbed some clothes before heading to the bathroom for a bracing cold shower. I needed to clear my head and come up with a plan to fix the mess I'd made. What if Novikov somehow found out where I lived? What if he endangered Edith?

Despite intending to stay up all night strategizing, exhaustion overtook me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep around four AM, haunted by nothing but more worries.

The clatter of pots and pans downstairs pulled me out of my sleep, and a glance at the clock revealed it was only eight AM; I'd managed a mere four hours of rest, yet it felt sufficient. Descending the stairs, I found Edith in the kitchen, attempting to cook breakfast—or so it seemed. "Are you fighting demons?" I teased, noting the chaos. "These pans aren't meant for war, Edith. I don't think you should handle them like that."

"You can handle your own pans however you want," she retorted, sticking out her tongue playfully, eliciting a giggle from me.

"Why are you up so early?" I inquired.

She shot me a look that said, Early? You should have seen me singing with the morning chickens! I shrugged in response, playing along.

"Anyways," she diverted, "yesterday I forgot to buy cheese and lettuce, so I'll be heading out in ten. Care to join?"

"Sorry, Edith," I replied, regret heavy in my voice and eyes, "I have something to do."

Like ensuring neither of us die at the hands of Novikov.

Miss Allen simply nodded, plating the eggs she'd cooked before preparing to head out to the grocery store herself. I walked with her to the driveway, chattering about how "amazing the party was" and assuring her I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. At the end of the driveway, she shooed me away with a playful remark. "Aren't you supposed to be busy, little lady?" she quipped, a twinkle in her eye.

"Yeah, yeah. Bye, Edith," I called after her, unable to resist adding, "have fun doing boring old people stuff!" Her scowl only made me chuckle as I turned and headed back home, my thoughts already consumed by Novikov and what I'd do when I found him.

Back in my room, I retrieved the knife from its hiding spot under the bed, my fingers tracing its sharp bloodstained edge. It could, no, should have been Novikov's blood, no one else's. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pondered my next move, my mind racing as I twirled the blade absentmindedly.

Suddenly, the slam of the front door broke through my concentration. Edith's return startled me; she must have forgotten something. With a smile, I dashed downstairs, humming a tune under my breath. "Edith, you're back already? What did you forget this time?" I called out, scanning the living room. When I found it empty, I headed to the kitchen, betting it was the purse she forgot.

As I entered the kitchen, prepared to tease Edith as usual, my playful demeanor shifted when I saw a shadowy figure seated in her usual spot. "Edith, is it?" he addressed me, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "She seems like a decent woman. Wouldn't want her caught in the crossfire, now, would we?"

It was the man at the Sapphire, the one who caused me to lose sight of Novikov; his black suit contrasted sharply with the smears of blood staining his white button-up. He casually picked at the strands of hair glued against his temple by the crimson matter. 

His gaze locked onto mine, "Can I have a glass of water?" he asked politely as he extended his hand, his tone contradicting the violence of his appearance. He, then, stared at me as if daring me to refuse.

He looked the exact same as the night before, minus the dark bags under his pale blue eyes and the blood all over him.

I stood at the edge of the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. Did he follow me here? It wasn't the time for questions, at least not yet. "What do you want?" I managed to ask, making sure my voice did not tremble.

 "A glass of water," he replied calmly, his tone almost casual. "And maybe a chat. Sit." His words carried an air of authority, as if he owned the place. Reluctantly, I obeyed, feeling what Melissa must have felt; my eyes locked on him, I felt a sense of unease settle over me.  "I meant sit after you get me a glass of water, but whatever," he remarked casually.

His nonchalant attitude destabilized me further. Who was this person, and what did he want from me?