Have You Fallen In Love, Yet? | TK

4.

Taehyung POV

As I gradually stirred from my peaceful slumber, the sun gently filtering through the curtains, I extended my limbs and released a wide, comforting yawn.  I check the time and shriek.

"7 a.m. already?" I exclaimed in disbelief, realizing that I had slept longer than intended. Hastily throwing off my cozy duvet, I hurriedly performed my morning routine, brushing my teeth vigorously and splashing my face with refreshing cold water to wake myself up.

Rushing to the kitchen, where the inviting scent of pancakes filled the air, I found my parents engrossed in their morning activities. My mother skillfully flipping pancakes on the griddle while my father leisurely scrolls through his tablet.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I demanded. My father, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, casually set down his tablet with a faint smile.

"Good morning to you, too," he teased, his tone light. "You looked so peaceful; we didn't have the heart to disturb your rest."

"Ugh, I literally wasted a perfect day," I mumble quietly to myself, feeling a sense of regret settling in as I lower myself onto the soft cushion of the chair.

"A perfect day to do what? Watch more T.V?" My mom's disapproving tone cuts through the room, her frown evident as she expertly flips a pancake onto the waiting plate with a gentle thud.

"Hey! I was gonna look for a job," I defend myself, the words coming out hurriedly as I pour a generous amount of syrup over the still-warm pancake, the sweet scent wafting up to greet my nostrils.

"Sure," her response is tinged with skepticism, but the underlying tone of support is not lost on me. "Eat up now," she urges gently. I pick up my utensils, the clinking sound cutting through the silence, and eagerly start devouring the perfectly cooked pancakes.

Within minutes, the plate is empty, a testament to both my hunger and my mother's culinary skills. I carefully place the now-clean plate into the waiting sink, a sense of satisfaction settling over me. With a grateful smile aimed at my mother, I make my way back to my room.

As I shift my gaze towards my phone resting nearby, I reach out to power it back up. I scroll through social media, checking for any news and replying back to the videos that were sent to me. Eventually, my focus shifts to my messages, and a surge of surprise courses through me as I come face to face with a series of notifications from the same private number. My thoughts race, wondering about the sender's identity and the nature of their intentions.  Fuck, is this going to a problem?

I hesitantly click onto the messages and scroll to the top.

Private Number
I'm hurt, did you really call me a creepy guy?

Private Number
You have such a pretty house. And so many cute photos. 
We'll do the same thing in our house. Take photos of our future children and frame them

Private Number
Your room is so clean and organized

Private Number
Doll, you've been sleeping for hours?
When is my baby going to wake up?

Private Number
You look so cute when you're sleeping
A cute baby tiger

Shit. Shit. Shit. Panic surged through my body, my breaths coming fast and shallow. The realization that this guy not only had access to my phone but had also invaded the sanctity of my home sent a chill down my spine. I couldn't shake the image of him creeping through my house and into my room while I lay unsuspecting in bed. Fear gnawed at me - what could he have done to me while I slept, vulnerable and unaware?

Ripping off my shirt and pants, I stood before the mirror, eyes scanning every inch of my skin for any sign of violation. Relief washed over me as I found no visible marks or evidence of his intrusion. Yet, the unease lingered, a haunting reminder of the violation of my privacy and the terror of what could have transpired in the quiet darkness of the night.