The mansion was always cold. Not just in temperature — but in spirit. Marble floors, shadowed halls, and silence that echoed too loud.
Taehyung lived in that silence. And he liked it that way.
Until Y/N
She didn't try to change him. Didn't pry into the scars on his knuckles or the nightmares that made him clench his fists in sleep. She simply… stayed. Watered her plants. Made tea. Lit candles in her room with soft jasmine scents. Left a slice of cake in the kitchen with a sticky note that read:
"In case you didn't eat again."
She never asked him to talk.
But she always listened, even when he said nothing.
One night, after a particularly violent day, Taehyung came home with blood on his sleeves. She saw him from the hallway — didn't flinch, didn't speak. Just walked up quietly, took his hand, and gently wiped his knuckles with a warm cloth.
He didn't say a word. But that night, he didn't drink. He sat by the fire and stared at the flickering light, replaying the way her fingers trembled when they touched his skin — not from fear, but from care.
Weeks passed.
He noticed her little habits. How she hummed old songs while brushing her hair. How she talked to her flowers like they were people. How she always left her door slightly open — as if inviting the darkness in, not pushing it away.
One rainy evening, she found him standing alone in the garden, soaked and still, his eyes cast down.
"Why are you out here?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. Just looked at her, rain dripping down his jaw. His voice cracked when he finally said:
"I don't remember the last time someone asked me that and meant it."
Her hand reached for his — slow, gentle.
"Then let me ask you again. Every day, if I have to."
It wasn't instant.
He still pushed her away sometimes. Snapped when the nightmares were too loud. Disappeared for days on end. But she waited. Left the light on. Left tea beside his bed. One night, he came home bruised and shattered, and for the first time — he didn't go to his room.
He knocked on hers.
"Can I... stay here? Just for tonight?"
She nodded, wordlessly lifting the blanket beside her.
No words. No touches. Just two broken people beneath the same stars. And for the first time in years… he slept without waking up screaming.
She didn't fix him. She didn't try to.
She just saw him, and kept seeing him — until he started seeing himself differently too.
And slowly, piece by piece, the monster began to believe…
That maybe he was still human.