The rain hadn't stopped all night. It painted the windows with silver tears, drumming a steady beat that sounded almost like a warning. You sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, watching the fire in the hearth. Taehyung was supposed to be home an hour ago. The grandfather clock ticked behind you, loud, impatient.
And then—
click.
The front door opened.
"Sweetheart," his voice was velvet, smooth, like a song you could drown in. He stepped inside, shaking rain from his hair, his long coat dripping. The first thing he did was smile — that devastating smile that made your chest ache in ways you couldn't explain.
"Why do you look so scared?" he asked softly, coming closer, his boots leaving little puddles on the floor.
"I'm not… I was just—"
Before you could finish, he bent down and kissed your forehead. His lips were warm, his hand brushing the side of your face so gently it almost felt like a dream. "You're safe with me," he whispered, "Always."
And for a second, you believed him.
But then you saw it — the glint of metal, tucked beneath his coat. A knife.
Your throat went dry. "Taehyung… what's that?"
He blinked, almost innocently. "Oh, this?" His hand slid the blade halfway out. The reflection of the fire danced along its edge, turning the silver into molten gold. "A gift… for someone who's been very, very bad."
Your heart thundered. "You're scaring me."
Something changed in his eyes. It was like watching the lights go out in a house — one moment warm, the next utterly dark. His smile didn't fade, but it became… wrong. Twisted.
"You don't understand," he said quietly, stepping closer. "There are two of me, baby. One who loves you more than life itself… and the other who wants to make sure no one else ever touches you."
His free hand came up, stroking your cheek with feather-light tenderness. But the blade in his other hand gleamed far too close to your skin.
"Do you know," he whispered, leaning down so his breath tickled your ear, "how easy it would be… to keep you forever?"
Your pulse raced. "Taehyung… please…"
And then—
The knife clattered to the floor.
He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight you could feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. "God, I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking. "It's not me. It's… him. I can't stop it sometimes."
You didn't answer. Because you knew — the 'him' wasn't some stranger. It was him.
When he pulled back, he was smiling again. The warm, perfect Taehyung was back. "Let's make tea," he said sweetly, as though the last five minutes hadn't happened at all.
But you couldn't stop staring at the knife lying on the floor.
You knew… sooner or later… it wouldn't just be a threat.
Your fingers trembled as you reached for the porcelain teacup he'd set in front of you. The steam curled upward like ghostly fingers, carrying the scent of chamomile… and something faintly metallic.
Taehyung's eyes never left your face. He was smiling, but it wasn't the charming, camera-ready grin you knew from the beginning. This one was smaller, sharper, like a blade just before it presses skin.
"Drink it," he murmured, voice silk and smoke.
You hesitated, and that hesitation was all it took for his hand to shoot forward, cupping your jaw in a deceptively gentle grip. His thumb traced your bottom lip slowly, almost adoringly, but his gaze was predatory.
"You still don't trust me?" he asked softly. "After everything I've done for you?"
The "everything" in his tone didn't sound like flowers or stolen kisses — it sounded like midnight footsteps, locks clicking, and the faint drag of something heavy across a floor.
"I— I do," you whispered, unsure if it was true or just the safest answer.
The moment you said it, his entire expression shifted. Like a switch being flipped, his smile brightened, his grip loosened, and his eyes sparkled like the boy who once held your hand in the rain.
"That's my girl," he said warmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. The softness made your stomach twist, because you knew — you knew — it wouldn't last.
Later that night, you found yourself wandering the upstairs hall, unable to sleep. The air felt heavier, as if the house itself was holding its breath. That's when you heard it — a faint humming.
It was Taehyung's voice, sweet and low, singing a lullaby you didn't recognize. You followed it like a moth to a candle flame.
When you reached the study, the door was half open. The humming stopped.
Inside, the lamplight cast a golden halo over him… and the thing on the desk.
Your heart lurched. It was a photograph of you, the edges frayed as if handled too many times. But your face in the picture was scratched out, over and over, until only your outline remained.
Taehyung looked up, and for a moment, there was nothing human in his eyes.
"I don't like it when people look at you," he said simply. "So I fixed it."
You stepped back, your heel catching the edge of the rug. The study suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, as though every shadow in the room leaned closer to hear what would happen next.
Taehyung's fingers brushed over the ruined photograph, tracing the shredded outline where your face used to be. His voice was quiet — too quiet.
"Do you know what happens," he said slowly, "when something you love is too beautiful for the world to keep?"
You swallowed. "Tae—"
"They take it away," he finished, lifting his gaze to you. And then, as if the words themselves were fragile, he smiled — tender, loving — while his other hand slid into the desk drawer.
The metallic scrape of steel against wood sliced through the silence.
He pulled it out. The knife. Long, gleaming, catching the lamplight like a sliver of moon.
And in that moment, he stepped forward until the tip pressed lightly against the base of your throat — not enough to break skin, just enough to make your pulse hammer beneath it.
"Tell me," he whispered, voice trembling with something between devotion and madness, "how far you'd go to stay mine."
The knife tilted, the edge kissing your skin — and from the corner of your eye, you saw the study door slowly creak open.
Someone was standing there.
And the moment you turned your head to see who it was—
Black.
The world snapped into darkness.