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"Why, Your Majesty, it's a pleasure to have you in my humble crib."
Pure sarcasm dripped from his voice. Pure rage dripped from your figure and every quick step. You didn't breathe, even though your heartbeat was fast and demanded oxygen. You didn't look at your surroundings, even though you knew that when you entered the lion's den, you should have an attentive eye. You were racing against time — against life and against the sick dynamic it had taken on. You raced, trying to outwit the puzzles that seemed to take a liking in thickening your plot. And you didn't stop until you reached his seat behind the mahogany desk. It disgusted you— the grandeur of the furnishings he had chosen for his office. Made you want to break everything just to spite him. To set it all on fire, with him in it. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up. He didn't put up a fight. He let you have your way. Small victories and all.
"Cut the bullshit, Seokjin." You were standing toe-to-toe. Face to face. Your eyes gazed into the depths of each other's souls. If you still had souls, that is. He smelled of freshly dry-cleaned fabric, cedar wood, and insidious nature. You smelled of lavender, white musk, and endless lies. He liked your scent. He liked it so much that he leaned closer to you. He tilted his head into your neck and took a deep breath. "While your visit is always a welcome pleasure, I would have preferred it if you had knocked first. I could've been indecent."
You pushed him away and hissed: "You are far from decent indeed. You are vile, Seokjin."
"Big words, Cassandra, my dear. Very big words." He rounded you and went to the cupboard, getting a cup and pouring himself some liquor. "But I will take it with a grain of salt for old times' sake."
You were seething. Anger so potent it blinded you. So much so that you walked over to the cupboard he was leaning against, grabbed the whiskey glass he was holding, and threw it on the floor with a loud bang. The amber liquid splashed onto the carpeted floor. He didn't flinch. The same smug, almost unimpressed look on his face didn't disappear even when the glass shattered and the sound that followed the impact echoed around the office. "Your manipulative tactics end now, Seokjin. I'm so fed up with you and this double-themed life, I can't take it anymore. How the fuck are you related to Jungkook? And before you think about conjuring lies," you closed the distance between you, let your eyes bore into his onyxes challengingly, swiftly pulled your switchblade out of your jeans pocket, and pointed it at his neck. "Think twice because now I'm out for blood, and you know very well how of a persistent bitch I can be."
He laughed. He actually genuinely laughed. With abundance. With a husky tenor and a row of pearly whites at sight. Your grip on the knife trembled, but you didn't let it show. Your heartbeat quickened by the second and sweat made your palms clammy. But you said it — you were out for blood. You wouldn't let something as trivial as feelings deter you. But you would let them drive you to commit murder, though. How logical, really.
The thing is, actions lead to reactions. You, out of all people, should know that. And with a quick movement that you didn't know how it came about, a reaction to your actions materialized. Seokjin pulled you by the hand holding the blade to his throat while the traces of his smile were still visible on his face. He quickly turned you around so that your back was to him and pointed the knife at your throat while your hand still held it. The pressure of his grip on your wrist was so strong that you couldn't break it even if you fought hard. God knows you did. You squirmed and huffed and tried to outmaneuver him. His weight on your body blocked your movements as he pinned you between him and the cabinet, and you found yourself caught in the middle of the results of your actions — trapped by his reactions. His breaths fanned the side of your neck and face. They smelled of alcohol, mint and impending danger. Your breaths were labored, breaking the silence that settled over the office where you stood. "You pulled the wrong card, Cass. You know how I feel about your feistiness. Now I'm hard. Guess we have a problem. So how do you plan to handle it?"
