"Lost between the waves, treadin' water, but I'm open that you might come around."

~S.L

༺═──────────────═༻

The fourth floorboard makes a sound when too much pressure is exerted. Make sure to skip it while running for your life, right into the little closet or even out the backdoor if you have the balls to do it. Into the woods where you hope it'll swallow you whole and spit you out anew. Swear you won't come back, then sneak in when the sun slips away. The beast shuffles smelling of ginned frenzy with the glass still hanging off its lips. Its personal therapy session has begun.

The world has turned into a coating of gelatin, invisible but impossibly thick, and it prohibits me from moving away from the form that approaches me. The quicker my pace becomes, the more the atmosphere does to resist the change. Walking at an even pace is the only way I can continue forward.

The beast doesn't bother calling my name; who else would it be searching for? The runt of the litter. Second son born in a pack that already had its successor. Eliminating an extra mouth to feed would be a tacit blessing, and I've come to believe that myself, yet the nature of man is to survive, so I adhere to the best of my abilities.

Nothing around me is familiar, yet the same panic is there.

    (backdoorclosetbackdoorclosetbackdoorclos-)

I fly out the back door in a spur of adrenaline, and I hope I can sprout angel wings to carry me on the back of the wind, but as I expected, they never come. Even the mold of a dream keeps me grounded to what I haven't been able to do in a lifetime.

Don't look, don't look. Do not betray weakness even though you smell urine on the ragged pants that cannot possibly fit you anymore.

Don't breathe, don't breathe. It will hear you and surely catch you in the act, and what is more disruptive than the reminder that you are alive? Crimson pokeweeds tempt me from the path. 

Faster, the moon howls, and I howl back. Faster, faster!

But I already hear the scent of liquor and paws drawing closer.

And I hope it finally ends me.

The incessant buzz of my phone on the nightstand lets the air back into my lungs, and I lie gasping and shaking before even attempting to check it. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stare intently at the "No Caller ID" screen taunting me to answer, which I find it easy not to give into when it's 5 in the fucking morning.

However, when I decline the call and settle back into bed, the same person calls again. And again. You begin to stir from sleep, hands automatically landing on my waist to pull yourself closer. I hold you back and let your even breaths remind me of our life together, outside of the dreams that frequent my sleep and into a blissful existence with you in it. Just you.

And this fucker, apparently.

You poke your head out from under my arms and slide up so that your mouth is against my ear.

"Whatcha doin'?" you mumble, and I kiss you on the forehead.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, love," I reply back, then climb out of bed to go into the living room. The affection has dissipated to replace it with sheer annoyance. Who would call at this ungodly hour? And why did they have to ruin such a perfectly good thing?

When I swipe through my phone, I see no voicemails. They called my number specifically, and multiple times, too; not an accident to be sure, but deceivingly urgent if they couldn't bother to state their interests. Or perhaps it wasn't something meant to leave a paper trail.

(they caught you they finally caught you thought you covered your tracks so well you pompous fucking ass)

(couldn't have caught me I made them disappear they never existed)

I call the ID back and resolve to hang up in 3 seconds if they don't say anything of value. The phone rings barely once before the person on the other line picks up. 

"Who the fuck is this?" I ask.

"Taehyung." I tense up upon recognizing the voice. Of course it's him. Why did I expect anyone different from someone who would bother to stay up this late?

"What do you want?" I snap, erasing the sleep from my voice as fast as I can. I hear the rush of cars in the background as he pauses before speaking again.

"I have a new project, someone you might be interested in."

"Unless it's the fucking president, I don't want to-"

"You remember your friend Yoongi, don't you?"

Well, that certainly gives me pause. The crazy fucker really did it. I mean, really did it! I can't say I particularly mourn the man's fate; after all, he wrought this on himself, but I wonder, does he deserve it? Even though he's a pain in the neck to say the least, he sought the vengeance that any human with a conscience would have wanted.

Besides, this isn't really Seokjin's M.O., going after people who weren't in the plan. He won't relish this kill as much as the ones he handpicks, not out of necessity, but out of pure desire, the ability to say I can, so I shall.

Pull the cat's tail long enough and it'll show you its claws, too.

"Hello?" Seokjin says, voice dripping with annoyance. He's never been the patient type.

I reply, "Yeah. Still here."

"Well? What do you say? Wanna reenact some old times together?"

"Since when have you cared about nostalgia?"

"Don't make me regret doing this for you," he snaps, and I can just imagine him looking down at his nails to check if they're still clean. "Anyway, is it too much for a man to share a bounty with his brother?"

The automatic response rises to my lips, but I push it back down. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, never contact me again, even if it kills my curiosity to do so. It wouldn't be the last thing that dies when it comes to him. Thoughts of my father prick my eyes.

But the guilt for hating Seokjin is fresh now. He saved me from a life in prison back when I had lost control with Eun-jin, and no matter what his motives were, whether it was to get a kick out of seeing me squirm or to help his own flesh and blood, the results are the same. I'm a free man thanks to him.

And maybe calling me is his way of declaring a truce, saying he wants to change, though I doubt it. From the glint in his eye every time he talks about his work, it almost makes me believe he's carrying out god's plan, and whether I support him or not, he will continue to do it until he dies or is caught. The life of a killer is not easily discarded. It's the snakeskin that sticks.

It's all to restore balance, he says. But I know that even he needs a justification to keep on doing what he does without letting a hint of remorse slip in.

"Is the phone line secure?" I finally inquire.

"Of course. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

I roll my eyes. Can't say one nice thing without him thinking I'm being patronizing. Which I am.

"Just tell me where you are."

There's a slight pause before he replies in a hurried slur of words, "North Lamar. Cheapo Discs."

What a treat to go down memory lane. When our mother was on one of her usual rampages, our father would usher us out with the deftness of a mouse, piling us in the car before driving down to that exact store, somewhere far far away.

With her in the back of my mind, I would traverse the whole place until I memorized it inch by inch. I knew where the best classic rock vinyls were and simultaneously salivated at the new movies we were never allowed to see, while Seokjin stared at everyone around him, especially the women. My father should've known. Even I knew.

But by the sound of it, Cheapo Discs isn't in business anymore, which is a shame. I was rather fond of the place.

"I'll be there within the hour." I hang up before he says anything else, (can't stand to hear his voice for more than necessary, after all) then go back to the bedroom to check on you one last time. Still where I left you, only to your side and hogging the blankets.

You're so beautiful. So worth breaking.

Grabbing a windbreaker on the way out, I survey the woods just beyond the house. The dream has rekindled my horror yet fascination in the place, my refuge and death place. The pokeweed bush is still there, as haunting as ever under scattered moonlight. I've thought about getting rid of it before, but I found that it grounds me. Gives me a way out of the hole.

It strikes me as odd how curiosity won over the decency to let things go to chance, by chance meaning Seokjin having his way. It would've been easier, certainly, and the moral implications would only dawn on me for a second before dissipating under the analysis of what exactly would have happened if this situation would've taken a different path. Someone has to die in this scenario, and if that meant Seokjin could live another day, that's how the new world order must be.

I'm not exactly sure what Seokjin has in store for Yoongi, especially now that he's invited me to observe. After all, he's been a solo player his whole life while I've been the weakling who's needed his help. Would he curb his enthusiasm for the blade to let me take a whirl, or still be his stoic self and simply make me watch in the corner as one of his psychological exercises?

Despite the certain detachment I feel for Yoongi Min, however, I still don't want him to suffer under someone with such disgusting fetishes. Just the things he's done to the cats was enough to make me gag with revulsion, and imagining the pain on Yoongi's face caused by another man brings out a layer of emotion that has hence stayed hidden behind the sheer wonder of the whole situation; he was mine to toy with, (when I claimed him with the kiss of death!) mine mine mine.

But I push my ego aside and come to accept that Seokjin has dedicated his life to his craft while I've only sought to be a pale imitation of him.

It clicks.

I want to be him.

I'm jealous of his ability to skin a man without blinking. I yearn to savor blood on my hands in the same way he does in that cold clarity, not with the fevered frenzy I do.

I want to be him. I wanted to be him when it counted. It could've saved my tears for better things, not my own pathetic brokenness. And if inheriting his traits means witnessing Yoongi's death and a hundred more, then I would do it. More times than I can count.

༺═──────────────═༻

안녕 여러분! I hope everyone enjoyed
this chapter. Sorry it's a bit of a filler,
and I want to say sorry for the next chapter
after this... Thoughts? Let me know!

A bit of self-promo: it would be great
if someone could check out my new
writing commission book! I AM doing it for money cause I'm broke af, but if anyone is interested that would be great:)

Also, thank you so much for 50K on this
book. It means so much to me that
people have even stuck around this long... THANK YOU! Love you guys so SO much.

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul