A World of our Own | K.TH *COMPLETED*

Again

V's POV

I want to tell her to keep the crying down, just because she couldn't afford to lose anymore. I worry that she will wake up having lost too much to keep herself upright.

Afraid I might wake her with the slightest shift of my body, I keep still as a statue until I am positive she's down with heavy sleep. Her even breathing tickles the tender spot of my neck, and my hands unconsciously tighten around her slender waist.

The back of my shirt is sticky and hot with her blood, but I don't even mind as I slowly brush the dark waves of her hair over her shoulders. Then as carefully as I can possibly be, I place a hand on the back of her neck as I ease her down back onto her bed.

Blood streaks her eyelashes, still wet and fresh. The pale skin of her cheeks is painted with the same substance on the back of my shirt, and I don't know how she could possibly get any more beautiful than she already is.

My breathing uneven, I gently press my clothed hands against each side of her cheek, soaking up the blood underneath. The remaining residue I clean away by soaking a handkerchief I find on top of her sink.

There's a portrait of a woman next to the discarded cloth, a stunningly similar copy of Tzuyu. Everything about them is the same, except this woman doesn't possess her enchanting eyes, or her cute uneven eyelids.

There is no doubt that this is her mother.

When I return to her side, I'm thankful for the fact that she is asleep, which also meant that she couldn't see my pathetic face. I would've never had enough courage to get this close to her if she hadn't seemed so vulnerable, her petite figure trembling with sobs.

The cold aura that I use to protect myself gradually go down as I watch her sleep, sunlight lighting up her dark hair the color of firelight golden. I can only picture what kind of ethereal shade the sunlight would reveal if it shone on her eyes.

Then a sound rings through the wall of her bedroom, rough and drunk.

Sharp panic tingles through my fingertips as my other side confirms my suspicions with emotionless acceptance.

It's your damn father.

I know.

When I admit, the voices in my head take on a note of rising fury, accompanied by a savage violence that makes me want to rip someone's head off.

Kill him already.
You know you can.

I want to.

Then what are you waiting for?

But I can't.

As I refuse my temptations firmly, I stand from her bedside as the demons in me click their tongues in disapproval.

Weakling.

How I wanted to stay beside her forever— and never leave her sleeping form. I would stare at her for a millennium if only my father would leave me alone.

But he'd come, and I had to give him what he wanted.

As I leave the room, I look back one more time, attempting to memorize her soft features, the smooth curves of her body under the blanket that I tucked all the way up to her neck. After all, this may be the last chance I get to do this before I die from blood loss. All I can do is hope that she wakes up hours and hours later from now as I close the door softly behind me.

Stay in your own world, so I may prevent you from mine.

Tzuyu's POV

I wake up breathless, my forehead moist from perspiration. This usually meant that I'd had a nightmare, but this time, I couldn't seem to recall what had happened in my brain during my sleep.

When I find the covers tucked up to my chin, I immediately know who. But where was he?

A sudden streak of fear crawls up my spine, the shade of my pale skin turning ashen as I realize he wasn't here. The fear quickly whips itself into panic as I rush out my apartment, eyes searching for the familiar tall figure with the mesmerizing voice. I had only been able to remember one thing from the nightmare, and that had been his musical voice— calming than the seas and deeper than the waves below the surface.

With a trembling heart and a pounding head, I swing his door open.

And when the door isn't even fully open, I instantly double over from the powerful reek of blood and pain. It fills the air, and Lord, I can't breathe. Fresh tears spill down my eyes as I hurry my way around the broken shards, desperate to find him among the maze of crimson and darkness.

"V!"

Idiot, you know he can't hear you.

Making no move to wipe my tears away, I weave through each of the rooms. Panic and fear fills me with every time I find the room empty, and I move onto a new one.

It had only been yesterday since something like this happened. Was this daily? Did he suffer through this every single damn day?

When I find his crumpled body in a shallow pool of blood, a terrified scream rips through me as I rush to his side. This was so, so much worse than last time. Last time had only been a bunch of light cuts with an occasional heavy one, and a sprinkle of dark bruises on his upper body.

There's a sharp, jagged piece of glass, stained with blood and discarded on the ground. I have no doubt that this shard was the one that had torn his skin in so many different places— the one that had spilled so much blood.

Rage twists my usual soft features into a terrible expression, something that I didn't know I was capable of making before this. With a beast like hiss, I curl my hand around the shard and hurl it against the wall.

With an explosive crash, the weapon shatters into a shower of glass and blood.

He never fought back— no matter how vicious the beatings got, it didn't matter to him. Every beating was the same, bloody and painful and filled with his fragile attempt to save his mother from his disgusting father's wrath.

Stumbling over my thoughts, I press a pale hand against a particularly nasty wound, just below the spot where his strong collarbone met with his shoulder blades.

Blood stains my hand in the matter of seconds, and only then I snap back to reality. He needed to be taken care of— I should be doing anything than just sitting here and watching him bleed out.

Biting back a sob, I let the tears freely flow as I retrieve the entire supply of gauze and medicine he owned. Careful not to soak the fresh white bandages in my tears, I pull his upper body up with all the strength my mother gave me.

The effort nearly dislocates my shoulder, and I realize that I'm too weak, too drained of blood. I shouldn't be struggling this much— the worst I should be is being out of breath.

But I manage to get his body upright, and when I do, something rings from his nightstand.

His phone?

I didn't know he owned a phone until now, but I glance at the caller ID while pressing gauze onto his shoulder.

Jeon Jungkook?