❝The tiger never digs a hole in the ground; he waits for the bunny to come up, and then he attacks. Do you understand?❞
Jeon Jungkook, a man most praised by angels, falls for a guy to get his heart stampede one more time.
Or, a criminal mastermind w...
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THE TRAIN SLIGHTLY upsand downsalong the sparkling buildings in the coldest night of December, Daegu. Little Taehyung presses his nine-years-old hands against the freezing window frame, biting his nerves beneath his light brown skin yet he was so oblivious of the pain.
His small eyes dart back to the small compartment of the buzzing train. Mothers cuddling their babies, a man in a cheap suit standing with his tarted briefcase beside a couple who were busy snogging. The guy caught Taehyung's eyes and a scowl appeared on his face at seeing a kid sitting all alone.
Taehyung glared back like an equal, pressing his lips together tightly. Don't look at me, he chanted furiously inside his head, don't look at me, don't look at me!
Shrugging in an who cares way, the guy slides back his gaze to the window in front of him, ignoring the constant smooching noises right beside him.
Once sure the man was not invading his business, Taehyung grabs his mini black bag-pack and wrapped a protective hand around it, skimming his narrowed eyes one last time around the rattling compartment to proceed his stares outside the darkening sky.
His presence here was odd indeed, since he was all on his own with his bag. The red cardigan and oversized jeans were not enough to fight the roaring winds outside for him and will make people wonder why his mother did not dressed him properly — but he won't feel anything. His emotions grow minimum as he aged, like neurosis or euphoria.
Or love.
The eeriness of his existence there was disorienting the scene of the usual local transport people took, for they would have never see a child seated with a school bag, alone, until now.
Gradually, Taehyung started to feel giddy. Something was wrong. Anxiously he swept his eyes around to inspect his surroundings and realised with a pang of irritation that the atmosphere here was too quiet, too peaceful.
"Fucking normies," sweared Taehyung under his breath, holding his bag's zip with two tiny fingers and unzipping it to reveal a knife covered in dried blood under which was some mysterious package wrapped in a white towel. Knowing the smell of blood would travel in the rocking carriage, he therefore hastily zipped back his bag and slammed his back against the soft surface of his seat's back, smiling cruelly.
Killing has its own delight; the stream of blood flowing out of the body with ease as if a glass of water knocked down, last gasps and pleases of the victim like jazz music — or better: audio porn. The thrill ignited him in amusement.
How he loved bleeding cats to death!
The train came to a halt and impatient feet scurried to the exit, Tae waiting for the passing passengers' crowd to thin so he is not pushed around when departing the cabinet. He loathed when people pushed him around.
