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𝓤𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝓘𝐎𝐋𝓔𝐍𝐂𝓔 태현

Your father talks about people like Taehyun. With venom that laces his tongue, he tells you about the filth of a world you can only imagine — and Taehyun is the worst kind. He is the kind of darkness that clings to your soul as it pulls you down with him; forcing you to join him when the day of doom finally comes.

thief!taehyun x cultist! reader (f) wc: 50k

genre: psychological horror/dystopian esque wannabe ⚠︎ READER DISCRETION : reader is apart of a cult, manipulation/brainwashing — hence unreliable narrator, morally grey characters, verbal and physical abuse, bruises and injuries, internalised gaslighting, theft/burglary, smoking, set in the 1960s, old social norms, misogyny, blasphemy, attempted suicide, arranged marriage, character death, descriptive death of said character(s), stabbing, choking, arson. smut tags: dub-con, coercion, virginity loss, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex + pullout.

𐔌ㅤ serene's note hello, bear with me guys I am about to go on a ramble. this fic is literally... a ride, I'm very proud of it and I've worked so hard. it's not proofread, some parts are cringe (?) take it as it is please. the first 7k I wrote in November last year, maybe you'll be able to tell, who knows. I'm attached to this fic but I also want to distance myself from it. if you cry let me know, I cried too, it would be cool not to be alone... read all warnings carefully, some scenes are very uncomfortable, remember that this is all fiction and not real scenarios. big and awkward paragraphs and possible grammar errors... yes that's all, more notes at the end of the post...

I

“Come down for dinner, dear!”

Your mother’s voice echoes through the silent house, the sound scratches the walls, it creeps up the stairs and slithers through the cracks of your closed door. Your tired eyes watch as the imaginary cloud of her voice diminishes into nothing. You had started seeing things like that; the melancholy tone of your mother as she spoke of the weather, or the stern drawl of your father’s voice as he scolds you for not doing your daily teachings. You could see the anger seeping out of him, just as you could see the sadness spilling from her.

Your gaze drifts back to the open book on your desk, eyes scanning the words you’d read so many times before. Flipping through the pages was routine, you didn't need to read anymore for you had already memorized the old paper’s contents. Your father had made sure of that. — The open page stares back at you, and it looks almost as tired as you feel. Exhausted and worn out from being opened and flipped through twice a day, for as long as it could remember.

Still, you handle it with uttermost care, like it was sacred, and it was. You carefully tuck it back onto its place on your sparse shelf. Your father didn’t allow any literature besides his own. It didn’t matter how nicely you pleaded, how many times you accompanied him in his office, or how often you cleaned the kitchen. A book that wasn’t approved by him had no place in his house. That’s what he’d said.

The old floorboards creak under your weight as you approach the open window. You lean out, catching the handle between two fingers as you prepare to close it once more. But the sudden evening breeze makes you freeze. It’s a warm July night, the sun has only now begun setting, despite it being well past dinner time.

Summer was your favorite season. Because in summer, the days were long, the sun gracing you with its presence from early morning until late night. It was warm, much so that you didn’t need a coat when out in the garden. Life seemed to flourish in summer, birds visited at your window, squirrels ran across the slanted rooftop, and sometimes, a single deer would emerge from the thick forest, carefully tiptoeing past the lilies your mother had planted as it grazed your already mowed grass.

Summer also meant no lectures, apart from your daily teachings. It meant not being cooped up in your father’s study when he read to you and taking notes as you listened. You were never allowed to read the books yourself, father kept them locked away. He told you that they were filled with nonsense, and that he only read the parts he deemed important. — You trusted your father. And so you listened intently to his every word. Because everything your father said had a purpose.

It meant something.

You hurry down the stairs, already late to dinner. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the grand hallways as you pass the many paintings, all made in oil, portraying various beautiful sceneries. Your father once told you that he’d visited all of them himself, back when he was young. You’d asked him to take you some day, but he would always tell you, “When you’re older, dear.” — Your twentieth birthday had passed just weeks prior, and you planned on asking him soon again.

The dining hall is, just like any other room, extravagantly decorated, with porcelain pots and vases filling the shelves pushed up against the walls. An expensive rug, imported all the way from Italy, lays beneath your feet. Father had told you that Italy was a grand country, where the ocean followed you wherever you may go, where fruits grow on trees and where summers were long. You had to pinch yourself when thinking about the fact that such a place actually existed, for it sounded unreal.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your mother clears her throat, she’s silently motioning for you to sit down. Hastily following her command, you pull out the chair by the end of the table, taking a seat opposite her. Your father sits by the high end, your mother to his right, and you to his left. It was how it had always been and how it would always remain.

Usually, father would scold you for being late. Time was a precious thing, because it was the only matter a human couldn’t control. Time was always moving and we were merely trying to keep up with it. Being late and wasting one's time is therefore punishable. But your father remained quiet, that either meant he was in a good mood, or a gravely bad one.

He nods, a subtle tilt of his head, but it was a good sign. Your mother grabs your plate, carefully putting freshly cooked potatoes and meat on the fine china. She hands it back to you, and you thank her. When you’re done plating vegetables you reach for the bottle of water. You pour your father a glass first, then your mother, then yourself. Then you wait.

Only when your father starts eating does your mother join him. But tonight, he seems to be lost in thought. His gaze is fixated somewhere far ahead, you follow it, but find nothing of interest. The room looks just as usual, spotless, the porcelain shining as your mother polished it almost every day.

It was important that one’s house was clean, because according to father, when the doom’s day came, only the pure ones would survive. Being pure meant not only doing your daily teachings, and refraining from indulging in any kinds of pleasure, but also treating your home with uttermost respect and care. — You had asked your father what exactly the doom’s day was, and why everyone in your community seemed to fear it so much. But your father would only shake his head, telling you to focus on your faith and that you would never have to even know if you did.

“Is something wrong dear?” Your mothers voice pierces the quiet air. You watch as she nervously regards your father, studying his every flicker of expression. Your mother was a rather soft spoken woman, she didn’t talk much for she didn’t think she had anything of value to say. But you can tell that the prolonged silence is getting to her fragile nerves, and you imagine her fiddling with the ring on her finger beneath the table, away from your father’s eyes.

Your father remains unspeaking, his gaze narrowing, but on what, you can’t tell. — “When was the last time the china was polished?” He asks, his voice a low drawl. Your mother flinches at the sudden question, her eyes snapping toward the rows of plates stacked on one of the shelves. “I…The day before yesterday”, she says, her voice unsteady.

The silence that follows is thick. You’re certain that your father is displeased with her answer, you can tell by the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the tablecloth. His dark gaze shift from the china and to your mother, who was already anticipating his next words. — “It was my fault, father.” The words spill before you can even stop them, “I was meant to polish them today, mother had told me, I just…I forgot, I apologize.” With your head bowed, and your hands clasped together on your lap, you keep your gaze downcast.

You don’t know why you lied. Suppose you felt the need to spare your mother at least some of your father’s torment. It wasn’t like you couldn’t take it. But your mother… She was so frail, the second he raised his voice you would catch the tears in her eyes, the way her hands shook and you could sometimes hear the rapid beating of her heart. You did not think your mother deserved that.

Upon hearing your admission, your father redirects his attention to you. His brows are slightly raised, painting a small and surprised frown onto his otherwise emotionless face. “And what’s made you forget such an important task?” He asks, his voice calculating. You sallow, nails digging into the palm of your sweaty hand as you think of an excuse. “I…” You begin, but your throat suddenly feels dry, “I must have forgotten simply because I… I was so fascinated by the birds outside.” As soon as the words leave your lips you brace for impact.

The surprise on your father’s face is quickly morphed into a bitter look. “You mean to tell me that something as mundane as wildlife distracts you from the important duties at hand?” It’s not a question but you nod anyway, biting the inside of your cheek as you do. — Your father scoffs, and you can feel his cold gaze on you. “When doom’s day rises upon us, we’re all going to be lost”, he huffs, “Over a few birds.”

You quickly shake your head. “No father. I’m sorry father. I’ll do better.” You don’t dare look up, keeping your eyes steadily fixed on your hands as you focus on laboring your breathing. Somewhere to your right, you hear him tsk, and through the corner of your eye, you catch him unfolding his napkin. “Years of teaching, and this is how I’m repaid”, he mutters under his breath.

His fork makes a scraping sound against the china and you nearly wince. “Let us eat”, he then says, this time loud enough for his tone to be conversational. — You wait another minute before finally looking up, and when you do, you catch a glimpse of your mother’s expression. She looks sad, but then again, she always did. There’s a flicker of guilt, lingering behind her drowsy eyes. Was she not glad you had taken the blame?

⸝⸝

The evening passed by in regular fashion. After dinner, you would gather in the living room as your father informed you of any news he’d received from your community during the day. It would often be mundane, like small details about the other families. But sometimes, it would be big, like new members joining. Your father would always be the happiest on those days. The proud look on his face wouldn’t leave even after you had come home from the townhouse. It would linger when he’d washed up and had dinner, all the way until nightfall settled.

But today was another mundane day, and if your father was still angry with you, he did not show it. Instead he spoke of the weather, and the family across the street, whose son was your age. Father seemed very keen on you getting to know him better. Though you did not know how such a thing was to be possible. You only ever saw each other once a week, when your father spoke in front of the community in the townhouse. And even then, you were unable to speak with one another, as you were forced to listen to your father preach about doom’s day.

But such matters didn’t seem to concern your father, and he spoke with much delight as he described the son’s both strength and faith. You smiled, but only because you knew it would please him. — After nearly thirty minutes of listening to your father, you rose to your feet, bidding them both goodnight. It was already nearing 10 and you rarely stayed up past the hour.

As you got ready for bed that night, your mind kept wandering back to your mother’s face. She had always had this melancholic feel around her. And you had always associated it with her, much so that you could not picture her laughing, nor smiling. Part of you wonders if she had always been like that, another part suspects your father might play a big role in the woman she is today.

And you can’t help but feel sorry for her.

⸝⸝

Sleep was, too, a precious thing. It was a state in which your body and mind drifted beyond your control. Time slipping through the cracks of your fingers as you lay motionless in one place for hours upon hours. Perhaps that was why you were such a light sleeper, because your mind kept telling you to stay alert, because even when sleeping, you were still constantly affected by your father’s words.

Your neighborhood is quiet. It’s a calm and peaceful place, a place where grand houses line up along the road, a car neatly parked by each and every one. Large gardens stretch behind the homes, and beyond them, a dark and gloomy forest lays, its treetops peeking over the high roofs. — It was therefore most unusual to be woken at night by anything besides the chirping of birds, snapping of trees or the howl of wind.

But the shattering of glass was unmistakable, and you shot up from your comfortable slumber. Your heart beats in your chest, your pupils blown wide as you search your dark room. But there’s nothing. The sound must have come from downstairs. — Was your mother awake? Had she dropped something? Or was it your father?

You wait, you wait for a whole minute. But your house remains basked in complete silence. Yet you can’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Pulling the blanket from your sparsely dressed body, you swing your legs over the edge of your bed. The soft padding of your footsteps are barely audible as you tiptoe toward your door. It glides open soundlessly and you peer out into the hallway.

Darkness follows both ways, and you stay, listening. Someone was shuffling about downstairs, and as you take a hesitant step forward, the sounds become clearer. Hesitating for a brief moment, you glance toward your father and mother’s bedroom, its door sealed shut.

And thus, you creep down the hallway, carefully descending the grand stairs, taking you to the foyer. The marbled floor here is cold against your bare feet, and you push back a small shiver as your head turns toward the archway leading into the living room. — It had to be your father, no? Who else could it be if not him or your mother? What would you tell him? That you went to get a glass of water? Or that the bathroom upstairs wasn’t working?

You shake your head, pushing the matter aside when the sound of glass being crushed beneath something heavy fills your ears. Without a second thought you make your way toward the living room, fearing that your father might have hurt himself. — But the sight you behold as you enter the room is nothing short of unusual. It was not your father, nor your mother, but an uninvited stranger.

The man is no taller than your dad, possibly an inch or two shorter. His hair, as dark as night itself, lays uncombed atop his head, reaching down his neck and the sides of his face. He’s clad in the most strange attire. The washed out jeans he wore looked far too big, and he had on, not one, but two shirts. The outer one had cigarette marks all over and holes everywhere, it was torn by the seams and draped over his knuckles.

You could only make out half his face, the rest shielded by his hair and the dim light provided by the moon as it peeked through the open curtains. He stands by the fireplace, still unaware of your presence as he scours the shelves nearby, his attention undoubtedly lingering by the porcelain vases. — You notice that he’d already broken one, the flower pattern lay scattered all over the floor, a danger to anyone stepping on it.

It looked to be an accident for he hadn’t broken anything else. — And though you should probably say something, you can’t help but find yourself in trance as you watch the strange man move around the living room. He walks with determination, the kind your father did, his eyes set on his target. And when he nears the shelves of vases, he carefully picks one up, turning it in his hands as he studies it closely.

It’s then you notice the bag flung over his shoulder. Just as the rest of his attire, it looked beaten. He shrugs it off, unzipping it as he prepares to stuff the vase in it. — You clear your throat. The man nearly jumps at the sound, his head snapping in your direction, and this time you can see his face clearly. His features are sharp, like he was painted with precision, each stroke of his canvas caused by a quick flick of a brush.

You didn’t recognize him as a member of your father’s community, you had never seen him down by the townhouse. That would mean he was a non believer. Your father had told you that those were the lowest of beings. Those who didn’t care for the doom’s day, those who indulged in pleasure and crime, those who let their house get dirty, uncaring for the day that was to come, when your home would be the thing that saved you.

For long, you had wondered just how a non believer looked like. Were they as miserable as your father made them out to be? Were they sad and angry, filled with both desire and hatred for the world around them? — This man, he was the first of them you had ever met, and he intrigued you greatly.

It didn’t occur to you that he might be dangerous, this mere stranger. No, you were too in awe of the fact that he was here, in your father’s home, a place no visitors ever were allowed. There was an actual breathing human being in your living room right now. — And this man, he looked nothing like those of your community, the ones who listened to your father preach about doom’s day. He didn’t look at all like someone who was meant to follow, but to lead.

Your gaze lingers by the porcelain vase he clutches in his hand, then the worn out bag in his other. He looked alarmed, like you’d caught him doing something he certainly wasn’t supposed to. His dark eyes are wide, watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to do something. — Tilting your head to the side, you peer at him through the darkness. He swallows. And you smile.

“Are you going to steal that?”

The question seems to catch him off guard and he emits a short breath, a warm huff of air. Readjusting the grip on the vase, his eyes drift from the ornament and back to you. “Are you going to dial the police on me?” His voice is a low drawl, nothing like the pompous tone of your father. This man did not speak with elegance or refinement, instead he spits the words out, almost as if using them as a shield of sorts.

Your gaze drifts toward the foyer, your mind climbing the stairs and running down the hall, to your father’s study. It was where he kept the house telephone. By the time you made it there, this man would be long gone. You did not think you wanted that. — So you shake your head, “No.”

This answer seems to bewilder him even further, his dark brows rising high on his forehead as he glances around, searching for clues that could explain your abnormal behavior. When he finds none, his eyes return to you. — “How did you get in here?” Your question comes out light, conversational, as if speaking of the weather. The man frowns, his lips parting before sealing shut again. He then turns his head, just enough for his chin to point in the direction of the open window behind him.

You follow his line of sight, nodding to yourself as you rock back and forth on the sole of your feet. “I suppose that makes sense..” You quietly hum to yourself. But the acknowledgement reaches his ears as well and he scoffs. “You suppose?” He questions, and in the pale moonlight, you thought you saw him smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, if only for a moment.

A brief silence falls over the two of you, neither of you moving. The man seems to await your next move, it felt weird, father never waited for you to take the lead. You did not know what to do. Your palms feel sweaty as you rub them together, not because you feared the stranger currently in your living room, but because you felt you were doing something wrong, you just didn’t know what.

“Do you want some tea?”

It was the first thing that came to mind. The few times your father would ever have guests over, he would treat them to a cup of tea. And you knew how to brew tea, you had been doing so for as long as you could remember, bringing the hot pot to your father’s study by early noon almost every day. — The man snorts, the sound rings in your ears, he was quite expressive, you thought.

He shakes his head, and this time the curl of his lip is unmistakable as he sets both the bag and the vase down on the coffee table, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I broke into your house”, he finally says without lifting his face from his hands. He says the words slowly, clearly, like when you explain something to a child, making sure every single part of the sentence registered in their tiny little brains.

It offended you, but only slightly. You supposed non-believers weren’t taught manners like that. Taking a small step forward, you clear your throat. “Then I suppose you don’t want any tea?” — The man chuckles, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, he looked to be in disbelief of the entirety of your current situation. You were too, but you weren’t so sure it was for the same reasons.

You could not understand his laughter, his light-heartedness and his uncaringness for what was transpiring between the two of you. — He was a non-believer, the very first you had ever encountered, this was, if not your biggest, but perhaps only chance at getting a glimpse of their world, even though you know you shouldn’t. Because getting involved with a non-believer was the same as being a non-believer yourself, your father’s teaching told you that.

However it was all too intriguing to back down now. There was so much you wanted to ask him, so much you wanted to know. And perhaps your curiosity should scare you, make you realize what you were doing and back away, confess to your father and immediately beg his forgiveness as you swore to never as much as look in the direction of a non-believer again.

“Do you not understand that I am trying to steal from you, at this very moment?” He then says, his sharp words bringing you back from your thoughts. You shift on the spot, a stingy feeling rising in your chest at the statement. “Of course I do”, you say, wrapping your bare arms around yourself, the thin nightgown you wore did little to fend off the wind blowing through the open window.

You nod toward the vase in front of him, “We have plenty of those, I do not see why you seek to steal them.” You eye the swan painted on the fair porcelain, “And my father would hardly notice its absence.” — The man regards you with a wary expression, his gaze flickering down toward the ornament as you speak, though returning to you within seconds.

“Is the point of stealing not to leave an impression?” You ask, unable to hide the sheer curiosity in your voice. The stranger huffs, and you barely catch the roll of his eyes. “Have you ever had to steal a day in your life?” He counters, his dark eyes narrowing on you. Had to steal? Was it something one did out of necessity, and not just because one could? You wanted to ask that too, but it didn’t feel right. With pursed lips you shake your head, “No.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the man averts his gaze, now flickering across the large paintings on the wall behind you. Every second that passed felt vital, as if time was slipping through your fingers. Your lips part, another question waiting on your tongue, but the soft creak of footsteps, somewhere in the house, makes you freeze. The man seems to have heard it as well as his eyes snap directly to your own.

You listen again, and the sounds of someone’s approach is evident. “I… You have to go!” The statement was hardly needed and before you can half whisper half shout it, he’s already headed for the window. — Your feet move on their own accord, following him, only stopping when you nearly step on a piece of the broken vase. “Wait I–” You glance toward the foyer, and then back toward the window just in time to catch his shadow leaping over the windowsill and disappearing out into the night.

“Wait… Your bag..” Clutching the old and worn out thing in your hands, you glance between the partly torn leather and the open window. Your heart sinks at the realization that he was gone, your only chance diminishing into nothing right before your eyes. With an almost melancholic sigh, you brush your fingers over the bag he’d left behind, a reminder of his existence.

The footsteps are closer now, and you hurry to close the open window. As soon as the hatch falls into place, your mother’s voice pierces the air. “Dear… What’s going on?” She speaks as though she was still asleep, a tired rasp overshadowing the usually sweet and timid tone she used. Quickly stuffing the bag behind your back, you glance between her and the mess on the floor, your mouth opening and closing as you seek a believable explanation.

“I…Mother I, you see I…”

But your mother merely waves a tired hand, shaking her head as she inspects the broken ornament. “Let us get this cleaned up before your father wakes”, she says as she kneels before the scattered pieces, “I doubt he will notice its absence.”

Quickly falling to your own knees, you discard the bag behind the sofa, joining your mother as you help cover the traces of the non-believer that had entered your home, and tainted it with his darkness.

II

Stealing from rich people was like taking candy from a child. Mostly because those pompous bastards didn’t know half of the fortune they possessed. You could grab at least a year’s worth of money and it wouldn’t even make a dent in their wallet. — They wouldn’t even notice it. Not to mention the fact that they hardly kept locks on their own front doors. So idyllically unaware of the starvation of the poor, the greed of those who had nothing.

The rich slept comfortably on their soft mattresses, wrapped in layers of silk, warmed by the fact that they would have food in their stomachs the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. — Most took their fortune for granted, too caught up in their own dilemmas of what gown to wear or what brand new car to get, to even notice how the rest suffered.

Taehyun did not think it was wrong to steal, at least not from those people. The ones who had it all ought to share with those who had nothing, no? Steal from the rich and give to the poor, however the saying went. “Cynical fucking bastards”, he grunts, kicking at a few stones as he walks down the empty road.

As he passes house after house, the weight on his shoulders only seems to grow heavier. He doesn’t bother to look, to regard the grand monstrosities that the rich called ‘home’. No, he knew this neighbourhood all too well, for he’d spent the last three days here, scouring out the grandest house of all. The one closest to the forest, on the slight hill, a little further from the rest.

At first glance, the house looked like any other, tall, slightly intimidating, and oozing of wealth. But as soon as his eyes fell on the man that resided there, Taehyun knew. This would be his next hit. The man in question, had been a tall, lanky, middle aged man. Glasses pushed far up on his slightly crooked nose, clad in dress-pants and a black shirt. The watch around his wrist looked heavy, as did each and every step he took.

But this man did not look like the others who lived here, the flimsy and extravagant ones. The ones who downed liquor like it was water on a Tuesday afternoon. The ones who plastered themselves onto whatever topic was currently relevant and those who yearned to be seen. — This man carried himself with something entirely different, self worth. He never once stopped to engage in conversation with his neighbours, all except the ones across the street, that family was similar to him, Taehyun picked up on that much.

Naturally, he thought the old man to be a widower. It was perfect. A man saddened by the death of his not-so-late wife, too clouded by his own grief to notice Taehyun slipping a piece of his money's worth. — So he watched him, he watched the old man leave and return to that same large villa for three days straight. He never left for long, a mere half an hour or so, and it was always by noon, in broad daylight. It left a small window for him to get inside, but he decided against it, he couldn’t risk being seen by those notorious neighbours down the street.

Taehyun decided to strike at night.

It would be easier that way, for everyone really. But as he tries the doorknob of the front door, he finds that it’s locked. His brows furrow, and he glances around the dark front yard, partly waiting for someone to come forward, to catch him in the act. Has someone noticed him watching this house? Had they informed the old man?

But no one came. Taehyun exhales a small huff. Maybe he’d grown paranoid after the death of his wife. — He tries the window leading to the living room, it glides open almost right away, and Taehyun chuckles, “Fucking idiot.”

The grand house looks much like the ones he’d previously robbed. The fine china crowding the shelves was not an unusual sight, however, the lack of anything else was. As he takes a moment to scour his surroundings, he finds that the room lacks any signs of a human being living there. The two couches were made, the pillows neatly tucked and a blanket folded over its armrest. A small coffee table stands between them, it looked as if it had never been used, holding nothing but an empty vase.

In fact, the whole room represented that of a museum. Almost as if it had been carefully crafted to please the appeal of someone else, ready to be shown off at any given moment. Taehyun pauses, confusion boring its way onto his forehead, a small feeling of uncertainty blooming in his chest. — But he soon decides against it.

He gets to work, as he usually does, by flinging the bag off his shoulder and scouring out the piece of china that seemed most mundane, the one no one would tell to be missing. Spotting his target by the very top, Taehyun rises to his toes as he reaches for the vase, fingers grasping the cool porcelain firmly.

An abnormally loud sneeze from upstairs makes him falter, the china slipping from his hands and tumbling down to the floor where it shatters in agonizing volume. He freezes, holding his breath, waiting for something, for someone, to catch him. But the museum-like house remains quiet, and he exhales in relief. The poor son of a bitch must be losing his hearing as well.

Taehyun resumes his work, figuring that he would just scoop the splinters into his bag before he leaves, sweeping his tracks effortlessly, just like he always did. — But there’s one thing he hadn’t counted on, something he’d missed, a small, seemingly unnoticeable detail, yet gravely significant. You.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he first heard you clear your throat, and he’d spun around on the spot, coming face to face with something even more prized than any of the china in the room. — The man had a daughter. But how could he have missed that? How come Taehyun had never seen you, not once for those three days he watched your house.

You were the most odd thing he’d ever encountered. Yet you linger in his mind for a long time. Taehyun can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and he doesn’t know why. Whether it be the unhinged and most improper questions you asked, or the way you seemed intrigued rather than frightened. He briefly wondered if you had some sort of medical condition, something that made you slower in terms of basic communication and understanding. — He couldn’t wrap his head around why you hadn’t called for your old father, why you hadn’t threatened him with his life.

Taehyun presumes that he shall never know. And as he shakes his head, his attention returning to the present, he finds that the scenery around him has changed vastly. From the grand and rich houses to rundown and crowded apartment buildings, all toppled on one another. His steps echo off the lonesome alleyways, and he makes a sharp turn to his left.

He stops in his tracks when he nearly stumbles over a man sprawled out on the ground before him. Catching himself just in time, Taehyun’s brows raise high on his head as he peers down to the figure beneath him. The man is dressed in a long and dark cloak, surely too warm for a summer night such as this. His hat lay discarded a few feet away. — Perhaps he should’ve called for help. But this man isn’t dying.

Taehyun follows the steady rise and fall of his chest, and as he leans down, the stinging scent of liquor fills his sensitive nose. His face scrunches in disgust, his dark eyes travelling across the man’s expensive attire. He was wealthy there was no doubt. — Naturally, Taehyun’s hands reach for his pockets, feeling his way around.

To his dismay, little of interest is to be found. Not even a wallet. He clicks his tongue, quickly realizing that he hadn’t been the first to arrive. Still, his fingers freeze when they come in contact with something firm. Leaning back, he pulls out a nearly full package of cigarettes, and a small smirk tugs at his lips. — He wouldn’t be returning completely empty handed.

⸝⸝

Tents crowd the narrow alleyway followed by blankets and worn out mattresses. Fires are going, casting the area in a yellow glow, and the shadows of the homeless paint the high brick walls. Most of them are awake despite the late hour. That wasn’t unusual, one hardly got any rest in these parts of town, and especially not under such conditions.

Summer was do-able, but Taehyun knew that half these people wouldn’t last the upcoming winter. It was strange, knowing that others were going to die before they even did themselves. But he had witnessed it far too many times to doubt himself now.

He passes a woman, she looks to be in her mid-forties. Dressed in nothing but rags sewn together, she cradles a small child in her arms. The child is crying, shiny droplets rolling down its cheeks, leaving clear streaks on its dirty face. Then it glances over at Taehyun. He jerks backward at the sight, his face twisting into a small scowl. It pained him, not because he loathed the poor infant, but because he pitied it. To bring a child into a world like this... He could not fathom the reasoning behind such.

The woman looks at him with frightened eyes, and her arms instinctively shield her child’s face from him. Taehyun resists a scoff. Her worries were placed where they shouldn’t be. For Taehyun was the least dangerous thing that roamed these streets. — Still, he quickly moves forward, if not for her sake then for his own. He could not stand to cast his gaze upon her for another second.

That child would be the first victim of the cold.

After pushing past a crowd of drunk men, just barely managing to slip between them as they waved their half empty bottles his way, Taehyun finally sinks back against the cold brick wall. Letting his head tip back, his eyes fall shut as he inhales the filthy air of the packed alleyway. — He doesn’t own much, if anything. Not even a filthy mattress to soothe the flaring pain in his neck and back. There was no point in owning such because he would find it gone when he returned in the evening.

No, Taehyun liked to keep as little personal belongings as he could. And the ones he kept were highly undesirable. Things that he could leave behind without someone casting as much as a second glance their way. Like that worn out bag of his. His jaw clenches when he’s reminded of his clumsy mistake of leaving it behind, leaving it with you.

With a small groan, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes. It was the only thing he had going for himself, at least for tonight. — Fuck, he could’ve made it out with at least something to pass on, something to feed him and keep him warm.. If only you hadn’t… God how could he have missed that.

Frustration courses through his veins as Taehyun shuffles around his pocket before fishing up the pack he’d acquired. He turns the small box in his hands, fingers flipping the top section open as he slowly surveys its contents. — He would’ve been able to buy ten folds of these had tonight been successful. But before he can as much as pluck one of the pack, a low and hoarse voice diverts his attention.

“I’ve got a lighter.”

It’s an older man, and though the thick layer of dirt on his face made it hard to tell his age, Taehyun would guess that he’d passed his sixties. A large and unkempt beard crowds the lower part of his face, but he thinks he can make out a small grin. — The old man holds out a blue lighter, his fingers trembling slightly as he does, but not because he was nervous. He, too, knew the rules out here. To approach or be approached, and you only had so much control over the situation if you found yourself in the latter.

Though Taehyun registers this man as harmless. His gaze flickers between the lighter and the pack of cigarettes in his own hands. He then gives a small nod, offering the man one of the cigarettes. His fingers feel grimy against Taehyun’s when they brush past one another, but he doesn’t cringe at the action. He’s used to things being dirty, to people being dirty.

The man thanks him once more as he brings the puff to his lips, lighting it with shaky hands. He struggles for a good minute, then finally lowers his hand as he takes a drag. Taehyun watches him. — Only once he exhales a small cloud of smoke does he give an approving nod and hand over the lighter.

Muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ under his breath, Taehyun does the same, though with far more ease. The rasp and slightly burning sensation that flares down his throat as he inhales is familiar, and he welcomes it as he tips his head back to exhale.

“What brings you out here, boy?” The man speaks up again, and when Taehyun cracks an eye open, he finds the elder already watching him. His dark eyes have a grey sheen over them, dulled by the years exposed to god knows what. Yet he sits there, expectantly waiting for an answer as he brings the cigarette to his lips once more. — “Not exactly your crowd, eh?” He then adds as he throws a glance over his shoulder. Taehyun follows his gaze.

The alley is filled to the brim with people like him, at least that’s what he’d always thought. All dressed down, wearing whatever they could find, sleeping on whatever kept them warm and somewhat comfortable, eating only when they really had to. Taehyun did not consider himself to be anything but such. — But then he really looks.

His attention fixates on the elders, their skin wrinkled and sagging. Some looked like walking corpses. Then he watches the drunks, the wasted ones, the ones who don’t even know left to right or where they are. He regards the ones who weep, their sorrowful sobs echoing off the high brick walls. The ones who scream and yell, shoving one another as they argue about trivial matters. — And finally, back to the man beside him.

“Young man like yourself, got your whole life ahead of yer.” The man cracks up into a grin, whether it was one of mockery or just complete irony, Taehyun couldn’t tell. But through the old man’s thick accent, he could still decipher a sense of sorrow behind his words.

He fiddles with the cigarette between his fingers, watching the lit end as it eats away at the filter. “What’s even left for me out there anyway?” He finally mutters, sounding somewhat petulant. Taehyun did not think that there was more to this world, this was all he knew. It always had been and it always would be.

But the elder man doesn’t give up. — “Come on son, don’t ya plan on making something of yourself?” He coughs, and his chest contracts as he slams a wrinkly fist against it. Taehyun thinks the man might have a whole fit at this point, but a mere minute later, he continues with a low drawl. “What I mean to say is, this place, it’s not for people like you.”

Taehyun’s brows draw together in a frown, his dark eyes narrowing on the older man. People like him? “You don’t know me.” He states coldly, the cigarette in his hands long forgotten about as he regards the dirty homeless.

The man smiles, his yellow teeth on full display as he does. “You’re right”, he hums before bringing the puff to his chapped lips. “But I know your kind”, he continues as he inhales slowly, as if savoring the taste of death.

What a load of bullshit. Taehyun scoffs, turning away from the older man without another word. The last thing he needed was for someone to tell him what he was and what he wasn’t. “Not his crowd”, then what even was? — Can’t even fit in with the homeless, that’s rich.

He shoves the cigarette to the ground, putting it out before even finishing it as he rests his head back against the hard and cold brick wall. Tomorrow he would do better.

III

Your father held long speeches on Thursdays — sometimes they would drag on for hours, making you fight back yawns and straightening your back as you tried to appear interested. But in truth, it was the same thing over and over. He spoke about doomsday, he spoke about the non believers — warning the rest of your community about them. He spoke of the ways in which one needed to act, how to take care of one's home and to be grateful for the life given.

He made promises. Promises of fortune and wealth that would come when doomsday rose upon us. But he always made sure to emphasize the importance of the rules, his rules. It was the very same thing said in his books — the ones you had read again and again, crouched over your desk as your eyes glue to the pages.

Yet the commotional hall remained perfectly quiet, everyone listening intently to what your father had to say. As though they did not come here every Thursday for the same exact reasons. You glance to your left, your mom sits beside you — her hair neatly done, not a single strand out of place. The buttons of her blouse are done up nicely, the cotton ironed to perfection and her nails trimmed and filed.

She looks put together like this, respectable even. You know that she is anything but. At home things are different, at home your father is different. Still, your mother keeps her head high, a smile on her face as she fixes her gaze ahead. You ought to do the same, but instead your attention wanders to your right.

The Choi’s are sitting next to you — they had begun doing that a few months ago. Usually the front row was completely desolate, save for you and your mother. It was reserved for the ones closest to your father, the ones he valued above all. Yet their family now had their own spot alongside you.

Your father had made his intentions clear and your eyes stayed by the son of the family. Choi Soobin is sitting next to you, so close that your elbows would occasionally brush together. He wears a checkered t-shirt, the buttons done all the way to just below his chin. His dark hair is combed back and his gaze is fixed on your father when he speaks.

In the future, you were going to marry Soobin. Your father had told you as much. — You didn’t know if you wanted to marry him. He was cute, with dimples that dented into his cheeks when he smiled, warm and brown eyes that sparkled under the sun and a light laughter. But you knew nothing about him, except for the fact that his and your father got along well.

Soobin had never been to your house, but you had been to his. It was just across the street, yet it looked much different from your own. It was neat, tidy and wiped down to perfection — just the way your father would have instructed. But it held an undoubtable warmth, one your own house lacked. Its walls did not feel sterile and the furniture wasn’t placed for show. There was something human about the Choi’s, something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

You recall the many dinners shared around their table, with you and Soobin across from one another. The shy glances you two exchanged, the awkward clearing of one’s throat and the silent meal you indulged in. — Your fathers would make conversation, sometimes it was plain and other times it was about the future, your future. You never paid close attention.

Soobin was perfect for you, at least that’s what your father had said. You believed him, even in doubt of your own feelings you would outweigh them to meet those of the man you had been raised under. There was no one that knew as much about doomsday as him, no one that knew about the non believers like he did. Your father knew best, and it would be disgraceful of you not to trust his judgement.

You had barely noticed that your father’s speech had come to an end, not until the roar of applause filled the commotional hall. Your mother gives your side a subtle nudge and you immediately fall into a practiced script of applauding whilst smiling proudly. By the altar your father takes his bows, his expression remaining just as indifferent and stoic as it always did.

Slowly the building empties out as families huddle together and make for the exit. You stay, only moving from your seat when your mother rises to her feet. She approaches your father, and you do the same — but before any of you can compliment him on yet another successful speech given, a voice behind you interrupts.

“Fantastic today as always!”

It’s Mr Choi. You turn to see him and his wife approach, Soobin trailing slowly behind them. He keeps his gaze downcast, not meeting your eyes as he instead regards his feet. — Your father glances over to the newcoming party, his unreadable expression not budging one bit, though he sends Mr Choi a tight smile. It was hard to tell if your father actually liked the Choi’s. At first glance it might seem he didn’t — but when Mr Choi starts talking, the words of praise rolling off his tongue like practiced silver, your father listens.

“We would be honored to have you accompany us for dinner in the upcoming nights”, he says. The proposal was hardly unexpected for Mr Choi would leap at an opportunity to have father close. Mrs Choi gives an affirming nod as she grips her husband’s arm a little tighter, the smile she sends is nothing short of convincing. From the corner of your eye you watch as Soobin shifts awkwardly in place, his shy eyes darting between the floor and his parents.

Your father doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell your mother is itching to interfere and break apart the awkward silence that was slowly settling over your small crowd. Father would say yes, you knew that already. Though it seemed he enjoyed prolonging the tension just enough to make Mr Choi doubt his words.

Finally he gives a small nod, “We would be pleased to join you.” His tone is short, not quite matching the enthusiasm of the man before him. If Mr Choi picks up on it, he makes no comment as he instead beams. “Wonderful! Then should we say Saturday?” A mere two nights from now, but it wasn’t like you were busy, each day followed the same routine, and Saturday was no exception.

“That would be preferable”, your father hums, his gaze, however, lingers on the son of the family. No matter how well the boy hid himself behind his mother’s soft frame, his tall and lanky figure stood out — and your father’s eyes found him anyway.

Mr Choi bows in gratitude, the rest of his family following his practiced lead. Then they bid their farewells, though they are brief and well scripted. You watch as they descend down the narrow aisle leading between the rows of wooden benches before emerging out into the morning sun. Soobin doesn’t glance over his shoulder once, for all you knew, he might not have even registered your presence at all.

You can feel your father’s gaze as it follows your line of sight, he too, was watching the youngest of the party. As with the rest of the Choi’s it was impossible to know if your father actually liked Soobin. But you think he must, otherwise he would’ve not chosen his family like this, he wouldn't have made them as special as they are now.

Your mother’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Such a lovely family, are they not?” She says as she glances toward your father in search of approval. He gives a short nod, something between a grunt and sigh leaving his lips.

When you begin your own journey toward the door, she continues: “I must say they raised a lovely son, don’t you think dear?” You can merely nod as you give her a small smile, “Indeed.”

It was no surprise that your mother was the most eager about your father’s seeming infatuation with the Choi’s. She had already planned for the great things to blossom between you and their son, and her intentions were clear. The only thing still keeping her at bay was your father, he was the one who decided when and where, and if things got to take place.

⸝⸝

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the living room. There you busied yourself with wiping down the vases crowding the shelves pushed against the walls. It would usually take you about an hour to get all of them neatly polished and dust-free, b. But on this particular day you find your thoughts wandering.

A mere two nights had passed since you had found the strange non-believer in your home. And though he was long gone, you thought you could still pick up on the faint scent of smoke and something else… Something that didn’t quite belong.

The fabric of the rag in your hand goes over the china, back and forth until your wrist aches. But you never felt you got his handprints off. It was like he was still there, clinging to every aspect of the room — tainting it with his sin. Part of you doesn’t want to wipe him away, to clean him from your memory and never look back. That part of you should make you feel shameful — but it doesn’t.

You long to see his face once more. Telling yourself that it was out of sheer curiosity and nothing else. But in the deepest pits of your chest, you knew that it was more than that.

Your father had yet to notice that there was a piece missing from his collection, that the vases now stood unevenly on the shelf. But it was only a matter of time before his eyes would catch the disturbance in his home. Mother too, threw anxious glances in your direction. She would take the blame if your father ever found out, and she would do so thinking she was protecting you.

But she wouldn’t be.

No, she would be protecting someone far more sinister. How could she know? A non-believer in your own home? It was unimaginable. Yet it was the truth. A truth no one could ever know, no one except you. And you would bury it with you if you so had to.

The vase feels heavy in your hand, and as you gaze down at the blue paintings scattered across its surface, you think of him. Why would he want this? What value would it hold outside of your home, if not used to protect you from doomsday? He had made it seem like a few pieces of china was meant to salvage him.

It would break if you dropped it, scattering into a million pieces. Then it would be worth nothing. You brush the pads of your fingertips along the fine rim, the vase felt insignificant beneath your touch. Why did he want it? Perhaps you should never know.

⸝⸝

That night you retired to your bedroom early. Bidding both your father and mother goodnight as you vowed to do some reading before bed. And that was exactly what you did. Hunched over your small wooden desk, you flip through the pages of your father’s book. The words no longer spoke to you, the sound of your father’s voice had become background noise in your ears as you read.

It was a most dull past time and ever so often you would find your gaze drifting from the pages and over to your window. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon and the birds flew high on the warm sky. You watch as they move gracefully through the air, their wings flapping softly against the summer breeze. Sometimes you dared dream of what it would be like to fly like they did, to look down at the world from above.

If you were a bird you would go someplace far away. Where your father’s searching eyes couldn’t find you and the sound of your mother’s melancholy voice would become nothing but a faint memory.

If you were a bird you would probably be small and insignificant. Your wings would not be feathery soft and white. They would be pointy and rough, tousled from the exertion and the rain falling upon you. Nor would you be a pretty bird. You wouldn’t be one people stopped to gaze at, or even attempt to draw. But you would be free, and that was all that mattered.

The creak of a floorboard makes your attention return to the book before you, slicing your silly dreams in half as reality commands your presence once more. Thankfully your father doesn’t bother to peek his head inside your room, and you hear his footsteps descend down the hall. He knew that you did as told, for there was nothing he didn’t know — and you had yet a reason to deceive him.

Your house has gone quiet when the sound pulls you from your reading. It’s soft yet sharp, like the pecking of a bird's beak against glass. Puzzled, you tear your gaze from the flat pages and over to the window you had been gazing out of a mere half an hour ago. Expecting to find a small feathery creature on your windowsill, your heart sinks when you, to your surprise, find something much more… human shaped. bigger.

Crouched on the slant of your roof, just outside the thin glass that enclosed your bedroom from the world outside, is the same strange man from a few days ago. The setting sun is now kissing the horizon, and he’s basked in the warm shades of orange and pink. You recognize him in a heartbeat. From the torn and dirty clothes to the tousled hair on his head. His dark eyes are stuck to yours as he waits for you to approach.

Without hesitating, your feet pull you forward, careful to avoid the spots you knew to make the wooden floor groan under your weight. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your fingers near trembling as you undo the small hatch that kept the window in place. It glides open effortlessly, like it was begging to let him in — or you out.

He doesn’t speak at first, quietly surveying you for another moment, as if to make sure it was really you he was seeing. Your relieved sigh is almost as powerful as the wind, and a ridiculous smile stretches across your lips.

“You came.”

It’s a statement, not a question. With your hand still on the window hatch you say,: “I knew you would.” And while it wasn’t entirely the truth, it wasn’t a lie either. You had been expecting his appearance, in one way or another.

The man gives a small, almost unnoticeable nod as he shifts in place. His eyes dart between you and the door behind you, like he was just waiting for someone to enter. You shake your head., “Father is in bed. Hebed., he won’t come by.” You don’t exactly know why you felt the need to reassure him, but you knew you longed for him to stay — even if just a moment longer.

“Please, come in.”

He frowns for a moment, the dark and wild brows on his forehead drawing together like he hadn’t been expecting the invitation. But he takes it nonetheless. With practiced ease he puts one foot before the other, soundlessly landing on your floor as he glances around. He looked strangely out of place; his dark exterior a stark contrast to the soft hues of your quaint bedroom. Nothing about him fits in, an unwanted presence — an intruder. For some reason you can’t bring yourself to will him away, if anything you wish he lingers.

His chapped lips part, and it looks as though he’s about to say something — but you beat him to it.

“You’ve come for your bag, haven’t you?” Without waiting for a response you scurry toward your bed, dropping to your knees in a hasty manner as you pull the dark worn out bag into your hands. The material is rough under your soft palm, battered by the harsh world outside, the one your father had warned you about. But this bag, it had experienced things; seen things you could only imagine.

You rise to your feet, taking a tentative step toward him. “Don’t worry, I kept it safe for you. I knew you would return for it.”

He raises a brow, dark eyes flickering between you and the bag with a skeptical look plastered on his grimy face. His hands reach for it, fingers barely brushing against the fabric before you yank it toward your chest — pulling it out of reach.

“Wait.”

If he takes it now, that means the moment is over again. He would leave, disappear through the window like he had all those nights ago — never to be seen again. You don’t want that. This is special, sacred. The outside world lingers beneath the tips of your fingers, ready to be explored. You just need to take the first step out.

The sound of you swallowing is deafening in the quiet house, your voice a low murmur when you speak. “Your name, I want to know your name.”

The man pauses, his features twisting into brief confusion. It was obvious he had not expected your question. He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting between the bag and you, undoubtedly catching the eager glimmer in your eyes. “Taehyun”, he gruffly says. Your heart skips a beat. Taehyun. You would be sure to remember that name. It fits his dark complexion, the sharp and almost dagger-like edges of his frame.

Whilst giving him your own name, you can’t help but notice the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow for a brief second. He doesn’t look angry, not the way your father would present when you had forgotten something, when the china wasn’t polished to perfection. But Taehyun doesn’t look happy either, in fact it looked almost as though he was in pain. Only it wasn’t physical.

A different kind of pain. A weird one.

He reaches for the bag, snatching it from your hands with brute force. It makes you stumble and once you’ve regained your bearings he’s already halfway through the window.

Your eyes widen, panic blooming in your chest as you lunge forward. Fingers curling around the torn fabric of his shirt, you stop him as he’s got one foot over the windowsill. “No, please wait!” There’s an underlying sense of urgency to the way you plead, like if he left now — you would never be the same.

Taehyun pauses, his head turning to send you a small look. “What?” Is all he says, the words painfully harsh in the warm summer air. The sun had nearly set now, it was dark outside and his face was now only illuminated by the yellow glow of your desk lamp. His eyes flicker toward your closed door, and they stay there for a beat longer than necessary. It was clear that he wanted to get as far away from here as possible.

“Please I… I want to talk to you.” The admission is softly spoken, like you were talking to a frightened animal — your grip on his shirt unwavering as you wordlessly beg of him to stay.

He scoffs, averting his gaze as he peers out into the darkness that called him. “What is there to talk about?” The finalisation in his tone becomes evident, he has nothing to say to you. But how could he not? What was there not to talk about; you came from two different worlds. This was your only chance at getting to know each other, away from prying ears and eyes.

“Everything.” You then say, insistently tugging him toward you by the sleeve of his clothing. It only serves to deepen the frown on Taehyun’s face, though he makes no move to yank his arm free from your grasp.

Did he not understand, were you not making yourself clear enough? Pulling your bottom teeth between your lips, you swallow down a noise of frustration. “You, you’re not like me.”

At that Taehyun musters a small smirk, “You don’t say.” It sounded almost mocking, like he intended to belittle you. Yet he was the nonbeliever, he was the one who was doomed when the day finally rose upon you. What was there for him to laugh about?

“Does it not intrigue you?” You then ask, slightly hesitant as you meet his calculating gaze. But he only shrugs, “I know everything I need to know about your kind.” He states it simply, like it was black and white, two sides of a coin equally dirty. Then he shifts on the windowsill, pulling his leg back inside as he rests his weight on the ledge.

“I bet you know all about me too”, he huffs. It angers you how ignorant he seemed; frustrated you that he took for granted knowledge you longed to have. You shake your head promptly, arms folding across your chest despite the fact that your father would have normally scolded you for doing just that.

“I don’t — why should I?” You point an accusing finger toward him, “People like you, one day you’re going to end up–”

“In hell?”

He tilts his head to the side, dark eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. Ridicule? Like he was enjoying the rise he was getting out of you.

The talk of hell and even heaven, it was something father had strictly forbade. “Hell does not exist”, you say, jutting your chin out slightly. To even mention such a thing in front of the man who raised you would be harshly punishable. Your father had told you there was no such thing as heaven, no such thing as hell and no such thing as God. It simply did not exist.

Doomsday was the only thing true to this world. It stood above everything, even death.

Taehyun huffs out a short breath, it sounds almost like a laugh. Then he shakes his head, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “No? I didn’t peg you for a non-believer.”

That simple sentence, said with such a light and conversational tone — disregarding the weight of the words. It made your stomach clench uncomfortably. You felt light headed, like you could throw up any moment now. You, a non-believer? It was unfathomable. Everyday you read your father’s teachings, everyday you cleaned and bathed as you prepared for doomsday.

And now… Now you were getting accused of a sin so grave, a word you didn’t even dare utter aloud had left this man’s mouth like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. The betrayal sinks deep into your heart and you feel pain twist and tug at your chest.

“Don’t you ever dare call me that again!” You spit, your voice laced with venom as you take a step back, hand releasing its grip on his shirt like it had stung you. “I’m not– No. That’s you!” Shaking your head fervently, you feel your lungs tighten with pressure.

“Leave.”

When he doesn’t move right away, you snap. “You must leave now! And never come back!”

Taehyun frowns, lips parting in an unspoken question before you lunge toward him. He quickly avoids your flailing arms, exiting through the window you had so carelessly opened for him only moments prior and out into the darkness.

You watch after his silhouette as it disappears over your rooftop. Hands still trembling when you reach for the window hatch — sealing the outside world off once more. Your father was right. You should have never let him inside, never asked him about things so dark and twisted. Of course he would seize his opportunity.

Taehyun was filled with sin — and sinners like him would earn their place on doomsday. Still, you clutch at your beating heart with a closed fist. A single tear rolls down your cheek, the guilt rolling off of you in waves. What if he had infected you with his non-beliefs? What if you… No. You were a believer, you had lived your whole life right, abiding by the words and teachings of your father.

You were pure. Nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing at all.

And yet you sit by your desk that night, eluding sleep as you read over the same books you had been for so many years — praying you had done what it took to keep the evil at bay.

IV

The night is darker and colder than any summer night should be. Taehyun isn’t freezing, but there’s still goosebumps that prickle across the back of his neck. Silently he moves through the neighbourhood, blending in effortlessly with the shadows. Some nights he thinks he might even be a part of them. It feels natural to stay out of sight, comforting. Perhaps that’s why he’d felt so uncomfortable under the soft light of your bedroom.

A shudder runs down his spine as Taehyun recalls the encounter a mere fifteen minutes earlier. He doesn't know what had prompted him to return, why he had sought you out from outside — climbed all the way to your window and tapped on the glass. Curiosity? But Taehyun tells himself that he knows everything about your kind already.

What makes you different?

Maybe it’s the sweet floral scent that still clings to every fiber of his clothes. He brings the worn out bag to his nose, inhaling the gentle aroma one last time as his eyes flutter. Something about you had pulled him in, even when he knew he should have been on the move, he let you pull him back.

Your house, there was something wrong with it. He could sense it on his very first visit, the way everything was organized so neatly in place. Preformative. Like it was meant for show, not for comfort. You, too, moved like there was a script to be followed, every line and every expression you wore was carefully rehearsed.

But there had been a crack in your play. Something that didn’t quite belong. Him. He’d felt it too. His presence was unwanted, despised even. And while that wasn’t exactly news for someone like him, it still felt different. Because the way your demeanour had so suddenly switched… There was more to it than just a blatant accusation to your beliefs. You looked genuinely terrified.

Taehyun couldn’t understand you.

One second you were prodding at him for answers, asking questions he had no idea how to answer. Questions that didn’t make any sense. The next you’re throwing a hysterical fit. He wondered if you knew anything at all. Your innocence seemed almost sinister. It wasn’t meant to be there. Something, or someone was protecting you like a dragon hogging its fortune.

Your room felt like a prison, the warm lights and the soft sheets were not made for comfort. And though Taehyun had slept on pavements and behind dumpsters, he could only imagine what one night in that house must feel like.

His footsteps are soundless against the asphalt, and he barely glances around the large houses as he walks; mind occupied by thoughts of you. You had mentioned your father briefly, the subject felt almost taboo as it left your lips. Of course the old man would freak out if he found an intruder in his daughter’s bedroom, as any sane man would.

So why didn’t you?

Why did you expect him, why did you cling to him like he was your last piece of hope. No one had ever clung to him like that — no one had ever expected answers from him. It confuses Taehyun terribly. And yet, as he mentions something as simple as not believing in a place after this — you turn hysterical.

He groans, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his tangled hair. Then he freezes mid step, eyes landing on a house just like yours. Large, commanding attention with its shiny windows and mowed lawn. Tidied to perfection, almost uncannily so. It’s familiar, but not the same. And it intrigues him.

The lights are still on, the top floor illuminating the street below. He creeps closer, staying in the comforts of the shadows for as long as they will allow. There’s movement in one of the windows, a silhouette gliding carefully through a hallway. Taehyun follows it around the corner of the house.

There, in a room not so different from your own, is a boy.

His shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, dark hair neatly combed on top of his head — a stark contrast to Taehyun’s wild and unkempt one. His brows furrow as he watches the boy pick up a book, and he recognizes it as the one that had been on your desk.

The boy flips through the pages, his gaze trained to the words on the paper — words too far away for Taehyun to make out. There’s a small frown on his face, and he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully as he reads. Whatever it was, it held his attention captive, even at such a late hour. But it wasn’t the Bible, Taehyun would have recognized it.

This book was foreign, and he recalls the almost handmade-looking bindings of the one on your desk. What had made it so special, and more importantly, why did this boy have his own copy?

Taehyun wants to walk away, wants to forget about this neighbourhood, the houses, the people who lived in them and most importantly; you. But he finds himself rooted in place, silently watching from the shadows as the boy indulges in whatever was being said on the pages. His window is slightly ajar, having come off its hatches, the night breeze caused it to sway back and forth slightly.

A voice breaks the silence, a woman’s voice. It appears to be coming from further within the house. It’s tender and affectionate, soft spoken but demanding, and filled with something Taehyun hadn’t felt in years. Love. He can’t see her, but he can clearly make out the name coming from her lips.

“Soobin. Soobin, dear, it’s time for bed.”

The boy is immediately pulled from the trance the book had momentarily held him under. He pulls away quickly, hands closing it together as he walks over to place it in a sparsely decorated shelf. He walks over to the window, leaning out to catch it and pull it back in place. Taehyun slinks further back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen by the boy.

But his presence goes unnoticed, and shortly after the window is sealed shut — he flicks the lights off, and the room gets swallowed in darkness.

Taehyun doesn’t linger after that, the sight of the house alone was enough to make him queasy as he turned on his heel. There was nothing for him here.

⸝⸝

He doesn’t return to the filthy alley he would call home that night. No, his thoughts are elsewhere, far too distracted by the night’s events to even consider the idea of sleep. Instead he carries onward, feet moving on their own accord as they lead him through dark and quiet neighbourhoods.

The houses here are nothing like the grand estates of your street — but they’re still far from anything Taehyun would ever get to experience. Some of them have cars, others could only afford the property. He wondered if any of them even had a telephone stationed in their office. If not, he could use that to his advantage.

Taehyun hadn’t planned on stealing tonight, it wasn’t like he did it for the hell of it. But something about his encounter with you had left him on edge. Adrenaline was still pumping through his body — and there was only one way to get rid of it.

He picks out a house at the end of the street. Its paint is chipped in multiple places, the roof missing a few tiles here and there. Like the owners had just left it to fend for itself, not caring about the needs of their home. Without pondering its exterior too much, he approaches a window. When peering inside he finds that it leads straight to the kitchen. Perfect.

Locks were not really a thing for these people, it was the 60s after all — peace was in, theft was out. People like them didn’t believe in people like Taehyun, they hardly ever acknowledged his existence. That was a good thing. It meant their guard was almost permanently lowered.

It only takes him two harsh tugs to get the window to obey under his firm grip; it slides open with a quiet groan. He slips inside, landing softly, almost cat-like on the tiled floor. The house is eerily silent, but it reeks of normalcy — typical middle class, he thinks to himself as he glances around.

Dishes are scattered around the counter tops and crowding the sink. Bread is left out, torn packages with cereal and half eaten chocolate bars. Nothing like your house, with its uncanny cleanliness and perfection. This felt like an actual home, somewhere real people reside. Pushing the thoughts of you to the back of his mind, Taehyun approaches the fridge.

The bright light when he opens the white box makes his eyes sting and he curses silently under his breath. With one hand still on the door he peers inside. It's filled to the brim with foods of all kinds, vegetables, meat, pre-made meals, leftovers. “Gluttonous bastards”, he mutters as he reaches for a sandwich wrapped in a thin layer of folie.

Slamming the fridge shut, he leans against it as he takes a bite — his stomach practically cheering in excitement at the prospect of nutrients. It was something he denied himself far too often. He chews slowly, eyes dragging across the cluttered kitchen with little interest. There was hardly anything of worth to her.

Taehyun moves on, silently stepping through the archway leading into the living room. It’s small, barely fitting the two couches placed opposite one another. A thick and old TV is pushed up on a small desk by a corner. Too heavy for him to take with, otherwise it would’ve done him good. Instead he opts for something smaller, something more discreet.

He approaches a box, placed on a dresser by the entrance he’d just emerged from. Flicking the lid open reveals a multitude of jewelry — shiny pearls and beads that sparkle under the moonlight. Jackpot, he thinks to himself as he shrugs the bag off his shoulder, shoving the necklaces and earrings in the depths of the sack.

Taehyun never felt guilty. These people never showed him any sympathy, why should he bother doing the same? Greed consumed them, they had everything, yet they wanted more. Controlled by their emotions, their life is strung on half hearted guesses and unnecessary purchases. Money didn’t mean a thing when you had it — only when you craved it.

So there was never a reason for him to take pity on the people he stole from — and Taehyun indulged greatly at their expense. He was bold that night, probably the adrenaline still coursing through him. It plays with his mind, makes him think he’s more than he actually is. Staying humble was what had gotten him this far, it was what had kept him alive. Tonight that seems completely out of the window as he approaches the staircase.

Rich people liked to keep their most treasured belongings close. Like a pacifier almost. They would hug their expensive watches and favorite garments close — like it was the only thing in their life that held some sort of value.

He tip toes up the narrow stairs, watching his every step as he does. Then he descends down the hallway. He stops by an open door, peeking his head inside. Toys are scattered everywhere, clothes mixing with the existing mess. A small bed is occupied by an even smaller toddler, sleeping soundly; unaware of the evil that was watching.

Taehyun doesn’t care much for kids. He doesn’t care if the houses he robs have children or not. It would not stop him from getting what he needed. In the worst case, he would find himself pitying them. When their parents' greed had taken over any sense of humanity. When there was no love left for something so tiny and innocent, so dependent on its mother’s warm embrace. Then Taehyun would for a moment, wish better for those children.

In reality though, he thought the world would be a better place if kids stopped being brought into it. All that useless suffering, and it’s not even their fault. He tsks to himself, throwing the small child one last glance before he continues towards the parent’s room. A child was not going to pay for their parents’ uncontrollable desires.

He pauses when he reaches a sealed door, knowing this was where the treasure was buried. His hand wraps around the doorknob, twisting it slowly. The sound seems deafening in the silent house, like it was screaming out for help. Taehyun freezes, hoping, praying for absolutely nothing at all.

To his relief, his wishes are heard. The house remains still, nothing at all happened. He pushes the door open, catching it before it creaks as he slides inside with practiced ease. A man and a woman share the large bed placed in the middle of the room. Just as their child, they’re fast asleep, chests rising and falling in rhythm with one another.

No one has noticed Taehyun’s presence. For all they knew, he was just another shadow in an endless sea of darkness.

His gaze falls on the nightstand — it’s risky, riskier than he would usually do. But the watch that shines under the moonlight; it pulls him in. His feet move on their own, drawing him closer with quiet strides. He crouches by the small wooden table, eyes now level with the sleeping man. He appears to be lost in a dream, eyes moving rapidly under their closed lids, twitching ever so often.

Taehyun’s fingers feel the outline of the watch before picking it up. It’s heavy in his palm, worth more than any of the mindless jewelry he’d stolen downstairs. He thanks himself for going up here, for striding against his own rules of laying low for once. The adrenaline unlocked a part of him he would be late to forget, and it was all thanks to…

His brows furrow, the images of your face occupying his thoughts even now, in a moment such as this. It infuriates him, like he was unable to control his own wandering mind. Biting back a groan of frustration, he tugs the bedside table’s drawer open. He’s met with mundane things, paperwork, an old pencil, a book the man probably never bothered to read.

He wants to slam the drawer shut, break something — unleash all the pent up feelings running through him. But he does nothing. Slowly sliding the drawer back in place, he rises to his feet with a silent exhale. He pauses for a moment, carefully surveying the sleeping couple. Their bodies are tangled between the sheets, heads resting on fluffy and comfortable pillows. He wonders if they have any idea of what it’s like to lay on cold, hard ground.

They have never been woken by anything other than an alarm clock or their child’s cries after a nightmare. Never would they understand what it was like to jostle awake in a cold sweat, chills creeping down your spine as you heard someone take their last breath a few feet away. They would never experience the true cold of winter nights, never have to worry about drying off after it rained.

Taehyun isn’t envious, just resentful. He’s not felt anything but rage for people for a long time now, as long as he can remember.

He turns his back to the couple, exiting just as quietly as he had come through their bedroom door. On his way out he even makes sure to slide the window shut. In the morning the man would find his watch gone. He would go to blame his wife, they would argue — but the watch would not turn up, and neither would confess to something they hadn’t done.

V

The Choi’s house is a replica of your own. Bookshelves line the walls, each one of them filled with expensive china; neatly polished to perfection. There are no books, except for the ones your father had given out, each one hand bound and cover-free. The dining room has a large carpet that covers almost the entire floor — and there’s not as much as a single strand out of place. Inside, the air is still, not too warm, not too cold.

The six of you are seated around a large table, the cutlery is placed accordingly and you’re eating in silence. Your father sits at the high end, Mr Choi opposite him. To your right, your mother sits — she hasn’t said a word since you sat down, her gaze trained to the food in front of her. You can’t tell if she enjoys it or not, even if she didn’t, she would never express that.

In front of you Soobin sits. He, too, is silent — chewing quietly as he keeps his attention on the plate before him. Occasionally he will lift a hand to push his glasses further up on his nose, or to adjust the collar of his shirt. It looked far too tight, but he made no move at unbuttoning it. When you’re not looking, you sometimes feel his eyes on you, but whenever you glance up — he’s busy eating.

This silence wasn’t unusual. It was a big part of the play you all followed, and it was not to be questioned — so no one did.

Your father clears his throat then, setting his fork and knife down as he glances around the table expectantly. The rest of the party mimics his actions, and even though your stomach still aches for more food, you refrain from taking another bite. Instead you turn your attention toward the man himself, watching as he wipes the corners of his mouth on a napkin.

“Dinner was lovely”, he says whilst giving Mrs Choi a curt nod. She smiles, making the wrinkles across her face all the more prominent as she thanks him. You glance over at Mr Choi who seems relieved at your father’s approval.

Of course, your father had not stopped eating to compliment the Choi’s on their culinary expertise. It’s only a matter of seconds before his focus is diverted to Soobin. He was the only one not looking at him, avoiding your father’s intense gaze like it might burn him. His shoulders are stiff under the checkered shirt he wears, his jaw clenched as he waits for someone to address him.

“Soobin is growing up to be a fine young man”, your father declares. It makes the younger finally lift his head as he turns to him. His expression remains unreadable as he nods, “Thank you, sir.”

Your father hums, his finger idly tracing the edge of the knife placed on the table. “You see, my daughter”, he motions toward you with an open palm, as if your presence had just been announced for the first time tonight, “She’s a dutiful girl. Always does as she’s told.”

His words make your chest clench with guilt. That was a lie. You were not dutiful, and you certainly did not do as you were told. You had let someone inside, you had let a non-believer inside your home, you had welcomed sin with open arms. Of course, your father did not know this, and you pray he never would. But now he was lying, and he was doing so without even knowing it himself.

He continues with the small clearing of his throat, and you know then what’s coming. “You see, my daughter means a lot to me. It would be very unwise of me to promise her to someone unworthy of her hand.” The statement is heavy with implication, a silent proposal that you knew the Choi’s would be unable to decline. You could already feel Mr Choi fidgeting in his seat at the idea your father was currently laying out before him.

“Of course, our Soobin is a very diligent boy, never strays from his chores or readings”, Mr Choi says as he gives his son a proud glance. His mother is quick to nod, “Indeed, he’s been nothing but a blessing to us.”

Your eyes should probably be on your father. But you can’t help but regard Soobin as he shifts in his seat, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose with an almost trembling finger. He was cute, you liked the way his eyes seemed to glow with impeccable warmth, the little mole under his right eye and the way his soft brown hair fell around his face.

Soobin was your future. You knew that much. One day he and you would be what your father and mother were. You wondered if Soobin would be anything like him, would he be as strict? Would he make you stay silent during dinner, lash out when you forgot to clean the china? No matter how hard you tried you could not picture him as anything like the man you had been raised under. You did not know if that was a bad thing or not.

“I think he will do very well with my daughter. She will need someone to rely on when doomsday rises upon us.” The talk of that day, the day he had predicted to come — makes everyone at the table tense. It was not a topic your father ever brought up when he wasn’t preaching, and certainly not something he would bring up at the Choi’s.

Mr Choi clears his throat, his voice tentative but determined when he speaks. “I understand. You can rest assured that we have raised our son for that exact purpose. He will not disappoint.”

Your father’s stern gaze flickers over to Soobin, cold eyes peering into the young boy’s soul as he nods. “I should hope not”, is all he says before leaning back in his chair. He pushes his plate back, declaring that dinner was now over and it was time for dessert.

It didn’t matter if anyone else had a disagreeing opinion.

⸝⸝

After you were done dining, your mother and Mrs Choi cleaned up in the kitchen. They would chatter quietly amongst themselves about mundane topics. Their conversation could never be heard over the sound of porcelain clinking and water running. In the living room, your father and Mr Choi would sit — legs crossed over the other as they discussed matters ‘too difficult’ or ‘harsh’ for any of the women or youth to indulge in.

That left you and Soobin.

He had quickly excused himself from the table as soon as your father’s had taken their leave, whilst you had stayed behind to help your mother carry plates to the kitchen. After that you took the time left to roam their grand house. It was much like your own, scarily so. Each nook and cranny is dust free and desert of any grime; just like it should be.

Your footsteps are quiet against the wooden floors as you descend down a long hallway. Family portraits are non-existent. It didn’t take a genius to guess what kind of heritage the Choi’s had come from — one of non-believers. Such people had no place in a house like this, bound by blood or not.

You come to a stop by a staircase leading to the top floor. Here you had never before ventured, there had never been a reason to. But with both your mother and father busy, you supposed there was little harm in exploring.

The steps groan under your weight, making you freeze up as you listen for any sound of interruption. But the voice of your father still echoes down the hall, making it clear that he was still in the midst of his conversation with Mr Choi. Thus you continue.

The top floor is much smaller than the bottom one, a single hallway with two doors on each side is presented before you. One of the doors is left ajar and light seeps from the small crack. Curious, you approach — treading forward with light steps as you do.

When you peek inside, you find a room not so different from your own. A single bed pushed against its corner, sparsely decorated with a dresser and a desk — a desk meant for one thing alone. Soobin sits in its accompanied chair, hunched over a book you recognized all too well. Even from here you recognize your father’s signature, the words calling out to you from a distance; daring you closer.

You enter without knocking, shamelessly tip-toeing inside without speaking a word. Soobin doesn’t seem to notice you, too engrossed in his readings, glasses sliding down the soft bridge of his nose. His eyes follow along the lines on the pages, even though he knew them by heart already. They were burned into his soul, just like they were yours. That made you and him similar — it made you closer.

Soobin was perfect for you. He was everything your father would have wanted. He’s everything you should want. Safety, comfort, knowing. There was nothing you did not know about Soobin, nothing you feared and nothing that would harm you. Soobin was pure, free of sin. Just like your father would want.

For some reason you find yourself comparing him to Taehyun. Soobin’s features are soft, his nose cute and round, lips smooth and pouty — eyes filled with life. His clothes were ironed, clean and neatly in place. He didn’t smell like something forbidden, he didn’t bark out harsh sentences or speak without purpose. In fact you don’t think you’d ever heard him speak more than a single word at once.

Most importantly, Soobin was a believer — one of your own. He was just like you, and people like you should stick together. Untainted and avoiding sin, repelling the darkness by following the teachings of your father. Soobin would be there for you when doomsday rose, he would hold your hand and promise that everything was going to be okay. He would not disappear into the darkness, for he was the light.

“You are a good man, aren’t you?” Your voice pierces the silence. You had come to a stop just behind his chair, your shadow looming over the light on his desk. The sudden interruption makes him jolt in his seat and he quickly turns to look at you — eyes wide and filled with surprise.

He swallows, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. It was clear that he had not expected your presence. But you did not feel guilty for intruding on him.

Soobin nods slowly, throat bobbing for a moment. “I…” He hesitates, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to even utter the words on his tongue.

“My father says you are”, your gaze drifts to the open book still on his desk. “My father is always right”, you add with a small smile as you rock back and forth on your heels. — Soobin nods, because there was no way he was going to deny the words of your father.

You cross his small room, taking a seat on his neatly made bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath your weight. “Come sit with me”, you pat the space next to you, gazing at the boy expectantly. Doing as told, Soobin rises from his chair as he quietly walks over. The soft cushion dips when he takes place beside you.

His shoulders are tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as he avoids looking at you. Pursing your lips, you do the same. It was an awkward silence — for you hardly made conversation with anyone besides your father and mother. There had never been a reason to. Well except… The images of Taehyun seem to plague your mind. Each time his face flashes before your eyes, a stabbing pain of guilt flares through your body. A reminder of your sin, even if brief.

“So…”

You begin slowly, dragging the words out as you tried them for the first time. “We are to be husband and wife.” You nod slowly to yourself, confirming what your father had been playing at all along. But the confession feels foreign — especially when said out loud. You tell yourself that this was just another passage of life, that your own mother had probably felt like this once. It was natural, and Soobin was perfect, so you had nothing to worry about.

Beside you, he shifts on the spot, blinking once as he swallows again. His fingers fidget by his sides, hands moving to flatten out his already perfectly ironed shirt. “I suppose we are”, he says as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

You smile, “Are you nervous?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

You frown, fingers curling around the sheets beneath you. He should be. You were nervous, terrified even. Was he lying right now? But lying was a sin, it made you impure. Your father always found out when you lied — he could smell it on you. Could he smell lies on Soobin? Or was he telling the truth? Were you the only one who felt out of place, the only one who thought things were moving too fast.

Time was sacred, you knew that much. It was a miracle your father had waited until your twentieth birthday to introduce the idea of marriage. But now he seemed more eager than ever — and it scared you.

Soobin remains silent, his chin jutting out in a small pout as his brows furrow. It looked as though he was deeply lost in thought. You regard him quietly, seeing how his large frame seemed to shrink under the pressure of reality. If your situation bothered him, he didn’t let on to it. Your father wouldn’t approve of that — it was something you both knew.

You shouldn’t compare him to the non-beliver you had met. No, you should forget about Taehyun. He appalled you, his very presence was darkness and despair. Look what he had done to you — the guilt, the feelings that refused to go away. Soobin would never make you feel like this, no matter how much he suffered he would never make you suffer with him. That’s what made them different.

Soobin was safe. Taehyun was not.

Your father approved of Soobin, but he would excel Taehyun if he ever found out about his existence. Still, your mind wanders to him more than it should, pushing your truth and your beliefs aside to make room for a darkness so sinister even the books on your shelf would turn away.

“I am scared.”

The admission is so quiet, the words leaving your lips in a hushed murmur. At first you weren’t even sure Soobin had heard you. But then he turns his head, those same wide and warm eyes meeting yours a third time that night. They are not the wild and untamed ones you had been faced with a few nights ago. No, his eyes are calm, grounding even — but you’re not sure he quite understands. There’s something missing, something hollow.

“Why?” He asks, the frown on his face deepening further as he shifts his body toward you. It became clear then, that Soobin was a successful product of your father’s teachings. He didn’t question, didn’t pry — didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Of course he wouldn’t feel fear over something so natural, if it was your father’s wish then it must be true and pure.

Soobin doesn’t know that there’s darkness around you, that you’ve tampered with something you shouldn’t have. He doesn’t know that non-believers actually exist, you can tell he’s never met one. Therefore he could never understand.

You want to say ‘what if my father is wrong’ but all that comes out is a shaky exhale. Because you could never bring yourself to defy the man who had made you, the man whose essence was the closest thing to salvation any of you would ever come. Instead you sigh, “I don’t know… I guess I just am.”

His jaw clenches, like your words frustrated him. But Soobin isn’t angry — just confused. “You shouldn't be scared.” His hand finds yours, large palm enveloping your fingers in a gentle caress. “Your father knows what’s best — this is everything.”

Everything.

The word seems heavy in the quiet air; the soft glow of his desk lamp no longer warms against your skin. Was this really everything? Would your life come down to a single person, another house just like your own — a life of cleansing your home, body, mind and soul; praying that when the day comes you won’t fall like the rest.

Is this really everything? Your world suddenly seems small, smaller than it ever had before. You think of Taehyun, of the way he had so easily slipped through your window — disappeared into an ocean of shadows. He came and went as he pleased, ruled by nothing but himself. But the price? You scolded yourself for even allowing such a thought.

Of course this was everything. This was what your father had prepared you for all along. Why were you suddenly having doubts? There was only one answer. It was him. Taehyun. He’d darkened your soul with his non-beliefs. He’d made you question the only thing you had ever stayed true to. He was silently eating away at your soul without even being here.

You squeeze Soobin’s hand a little harder, ignoring the way your heart thumps in your chest as you send him a small smile. “Of course, you’re right. This is everything.”

VI

Taehyun doesn’t exactly know why he returns. He’d told himself that he was going to stay away. You were already messing with his thoughts, plaguing his mind in a way most uncomfortable. Returning to the source of his agony would only make things worse. But he can’t help it. As soon as the sun begins to set, he finds himself on a path all too familiar.

The grand houses stare back at him mockingly, like they know he doesn't belong here. Taehyun does too. He doesn’t belong anywhere. It has never stopped him from doing as he pleased. Tonight was no exception.

He climbs the tree that looms over the side of your home. The branches snap and break under his weight, making the journey up even harder than last time. But it doesn't deter him, if anything it only spurs him on as he climbs — not caring for the new holes that were being torn into his dirty hoodie.

When he finally makes it to the slanted part of your roof, he’s covered in sweat, it slides down the sides of his neck and face, making him feel all the more sticky and filthy. He’d learned to deal with it though. Hygiene wasn’t exactly the top of one’s priority list when you were homeless, fending for your next meal like it was war.

He leaps from the tree top and over to the old roof, cushioning his fall as best as he can. Once he’s got both feet on firm ground, more or less, he begins his journey toward your room. It’s on the other side of the house, and he’s forced to pass a multitude of windows on his way. It was a hassle, with his heart beating wildly in his chest whenever he heard movement coming from inside as he pressed against the wall.

Then he imagines your face, he wonders what you would say to him. Would you be just as angry with him? Perhaps you would call your father on him, have him dial the police. Taehyun grimaces at the thought, getting involved with any authorities was the last thing he needed right now. Which made this all the more risky, and he should be backing out while he still has the chance.

But he doesn’t.

When he reaches your window, he finds that the light is still on. You’re sitting by your desk, basked in the warm and yellow glow as you read. It was that same book he’d seen last time, the one that boy had been reading. His curiosity was mounting with each glance at the handmade bindings, the cover that lacked both title and drawings.

Whatever it was, he longed to know more. And so he knocks, curled fingers tapping gently against the glass as he tries to get your attention.

You look up almost immediately, wide and confused eyes landing on him within a matter of seconds. Your expression goes from confusion to anger to… something that almost resembles fear. He doesn’t quite understand what it’s supposed to mean, then again, perhaps you had finally come to your senses and realized his true nature. A thief.

Still you approach the window, much to his surprise your hand reaches for the hatch as you undo it. The glass slides open, and he’s immediately hit with the soft and almost sickeningly sweet scent of your perfume. He inhales it like it’s his last breath, savoring the way it makes his head spin for just a moment longer.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds you watching him, still silent. It became clear that you were waiting for him to speak, lacking all the curiosity you had been so filled with on your last encounter. What has changed?

He hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between you and the closed door behind you. The ever pressing matter of your father still loomed in the back of his mind. He’d studied the man for three days without even realizing he’d not only been married, but had a daughter as well. That was not something one hid like that — unless you had great reason to.

It’s when your gaze on him starts to feel heavy with unspoken words that he finally wills himself to say something. “You’re upset with me.” It’s all he can muster, he thinks an apology might be fitting; but then he wouldn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Breaking into your house? Calling you a non-believer even when you had clearly stated you didn’t think hell existed?

The tension on your face eases up at his simple statement, even if just slightly. Taehyun watches as you cross your arms over your chest, throat bobbing when you swallow. “I am…” You say, the sentence is nothing more than a hushed murmur — loud enough only for his ears and the wind to pick up.

He shifts awkwardly on the windowsill, keeping his legs outside, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed entry or not. “I’m sorry”, he blurts. The words spill from his lips quickly, in a rushed breath that he just barely got out. He doesn’t know why or what he’s apologizing for but he knows that he can’t stand seeing the saddened expression you’re wearing right now. The one that made your eyes drop and your jaw clench.

It was torture, and he didn’t even know why.

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze as you fixate on the floorboards beneath you. There’s another silence that follows, this one less heavy than the last but far from comfortable. Taehyun wonders if he should say something else, or if he should just up and leave again. Maybe you wanted to be left alone.

“You can come in… If you want.” The proposal is whispered between shaky breaths as you step aside for him to come through the window.

This time Taehyun doesn’t hesitate as he puts one foot before the other, landing himself in your room with a soft thud. His eyes fall on the book, still open on your desk — but when you catch his gaze wandering you quickly slam it shut. The sound makes him blink once, taken aback by your sudden display of emotion.

“It’s not for you”, you murmur — gaze still downcast as you approach your bed.

He listens to the sound of your body as it sinks down on the mattress, the cushion creaking softly under you. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he watches as you sit there; hands clasped over your knees, appearing to be lost in thought. If his presence unsettled you, you never showed it. The only emotion he could read off of you was pain, one he didn’t quite understand — and Taehyun knew everything there was to know about pain.

His eyes dart around the small room, drinking in the motionless paintings on your walls. They were landscapes, each and every one of them — of places far away. Snowy mountains, long rivers, endless beaches and thick forests. He wants to ask if you’ve painted them yourself, they all lacked signature, which gave them no value if you wished to steal, or sell. But he refrains from uttering the question.

The tapestry is a light pink, adorned with flowers here and there. Your dresser is mahogany wood, as is your desk and bookshelf. But aside from the paintings and the strange books, your room was essentially empty. And though the warm light of your desk lamp basked you in soft yellow hues, the space still felt cold.

Lonely.

He glances at you, eyes lingering on your slumped figure. Were you lonely? He had never really stopped to consider what rich people did, aside from wasting their money on useless stuff. The way you had clung to him, even when he had been in the midst of raiding your living room on that fateful night — a thousand questions sparkling behind your eyes. He started to wonder just how often you actually ventured outside.

The mattress dips under his weight when he takes the seat next to you on the bed. Your body becomes stiff beside his, like you hadn’t expected the action. Regardless, you don’t speak, keeping your gaze averted as you peer outside the open window.

Finally, he can’t seem to keep the questions in any longer. It felt almost like the roles were reversed, he was itching to know more about you — and it pissed him off. “Did you paint those?” He nods toward the drawings on your walls, eyes lingering for a moment on the fine brush strokes.

You hum, following his line of sight as you chew on your bottom lip. “Yes…” It was clear they hadn’t been created with the intent of being shown off, in fact you seemed almost sheepish under his silent inspection of the art.

“They’re beautiful”, he compliments, not knowing why he felt the need to reassure you when you hadn’t given him any reason to. But he does anyway, because it feels right in this very moment. — You perk up at the praise, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t sure… I have never been before”, you murmur as you motion toward the snowy mountains, the long rivers and endless beaches.

Taehyun can’t help but frown — wasn’t like he’d been either, but you at least looked to have the funds for it. “Why not?” He asks, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice. At that question you turn silent, the grateful expression on your face falling; replaced by the same pained one from earlier.

You give him a small shrug, “Father wouldn’t allow it.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That one man’s word determines your entire being. He doesn’t understand, and the confusion is slowly tearing him apart. “But why do you have to listen to him? Can’t you just go anyway?” He’s pushing it now, he can tell by the way you tense up, eyes darting around the room like you were searching for an escape — anything to end the conversation.

The soft huff that slips past your lips feels like a slap in the face. You shake your head, swallowing before your attention finally returns to him. “You don’t understand do you?” It’s more a statement than a question, and it irks him how aware yet unaware you seem.

“So tell me”, he presses, closing the distance between the two of you on the bed as he scoots forward. He pauses only when he feels his thigh brush against yours, gaze darting down to the naked skin of your leg. It was then he realized that you weren’t wearing more than a simple nightgown, a sheer pink one that hugged your body tight.

Your breath hitches in your throat, he can hear it so clearly — the way your heart thumps in your chest at the sudden proximity. Usually it would make him feel a certain type of way when a woman displayed obvious shyness and attraction around him. It would make him feel powerful, in control.

But you only make him feel guilty.

Like he was intruding on something more than just your property — something that was never meant to be anyone’s at all. There was something very wrong with you, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. At first glance one would think you and your family to be deeply religious; to the point where your crazed father had forbidden you to go outside. Taehyun realizes that that’s not the case.

This house; you. There was no room for God here — he had felt it as soon as he’d stepped foot in your living room that night, the one that seemed so long ago. Whatever it was that lingered within these walls, it was far more sinister than any religious psychosis. It was your life. It was who you were, it defined you — in the most twisted way possible.

When you don’t reply he speaks again, “I want to know.” His voice is a low breathless drawl, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment longer than they should have — watching the slight tremble in them as they part, your shaky exhales puffing against his face.

You shake your head, hands clenching into fists on your lap. “You would never understand… My father he–”

“I don’t care about your father.”

“Well you should!”

Your chest is heaving now, each ragged breath you take becoming all the closer to hyperventilating. He can tell the topic is affecting you, he just can’t understand why. Taehyun doesn’t care about that man, he can’t wrap his head around what made him so important to you. What made you act so hysterical whenever he was questioned?

“You can’t just– My father he… You don’t question him, alright?” You jab an accusing finger toward his chest. Any remnants of your previous bashfulness toward his proximity had completely vanished in favor of the strong feelings you held for your father. “That’s not… He knows, he wouldn’t say things just because he could. He’s not a liar!”

Taehyun raises his hands in surrender, brows furrowing into a perplexed frown as he admits defeat. “I hear you”, he huffs, somewhat appalled by your sudden switch in demeanour.

The silence that follows is thick, both of you listening for anything that would indicate movement outside your door. But the house remains basked in an eerie quietness, the only sounds audible are his and your breaths blending with one another. — So your father was a sensitive topic, alright, he would stay away from that. For now at least.

Taehyun’s gaze flickers across your face. He could see the guilt etched onto every feature. Your hands tremble in your lap, your body thrumming with tension as you promptly avoid eye contact. Jesus why had he even returned in the first place? You were a complete nutcase, one second you were fine and the other you were hysteric.

Your words and actions are hidden behind a false sense of innocence, of safety. But there’s something much darker lurking beneath the surface, he can feel it — this whole house radiates evil, but it is not the kind you would read about in the Bible. This is something different, something he’d never before encountered. And you, you might’ve been the very source of it all.

After that you refrain from speaking. Taehyun does too. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity. Then he gets up, walks over to the open window — and climbs out without throwing as much as a glance behind his shoulder. This time you don’t stop him.

VII

Your father’s office is dark — with shelves that crowd three out of four walls, all stacked with books you were strictly forbidden to even let your gaze fall upon. He would always say they contained a bunch of nonsense, things you shouldn’t taint your mind with if you wanted to stay pure. And you did, your only wish was to be the best you could be for him.

There’s a small window opposite the door, but the curtains are almost always drawn. The only light comes from the lamp on his desk, casting the room in a yellow glow with eerie shadows that crept around the room’s border.

It wasn’t often your father would call you to his office during the summers. Which was why this afternoon you had almost had trouble keeping down your lunch when he had called on you. Your mother had given you a nervous glance from her spot on the couch, the shirt she was currently knitting on pause in her hands as her gaze flickered between your terrified expression and the staircase. She had said nothing when you took your leave, but you had felt her eyes on you as you made your way upstairs.

The walk to your father’s office seemed eternal — the hallway stretching longer than it usually would as you tread lightly on the wooden floors. You pass your own room, then your mother and father’s. For each step your heart beats a little louder in your chest.

The door is left ajar, but you knock anyway. Three curt taps with your curled fist. Then his voice booms from the other side, “Come in.”

You enter quietly, shutting the door behind you on your way inside. Your father is seated by his desk, glasses low on the crooked bridge of his nose. He doesn't look up to see you when you take the seat opposite him, carefully scooting your chair in as you do. — He’s busy flipping through a book you cannot recognize, the words upside down from your perspective, which made it impossible to make out what was written.

Wordlessly you wait for him to acknowledge you, hands clasped together on your lap — sweaty palms sliding against one another you try to think of a possible reason for him to call on you so suddenly.

He licks the pad of his finger, slowly turning the page, the sound of crisp paper being unraveled echoing through his office. Then he closes the book, putting it aside as he reaches for the glasses. He takes them off, placing them down neatly in front of him before he turns his attention to you. His eyes are cold and detached, peering into your own with an intensity that could have made anyone nauseous.

“Daughter.”

His voice is a low drawl, one that makes a shiver crawl up your spine as he addresses you. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you give him a subtle nod, nails digging into the back of your hand as you reply: “Father.”

He doesn’t speak right away, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to be comfortable. You knew that father could see right through you, that there was never any point in trying to deceive him for he could tell without you even opening your mouth to speak. The sound of his chair creaking rings through your ears when he leans back, gaze trailing over the crowded bookshelves for a moment before coming to a stop.

Reaching a hand out, his lean fingers grasp a book you recognized with dread. It was not one you were allowed to keep in your room, but he had still made you read it — over and over, for as long as you had been able to. You vividly remember being perched on his lap as a child, following along his pointed finger as he read aloud. As you grew older you were prompted to do the same, this time following your own finger as you read to him.

Its cover was dark, as were the contents written down. The bindings are fragile, carefully tied by your father’s own hand, as he had all the books your community read. They were sacred that way, crafted under his touch and created with his knowledge.

This book in particular was important. Not because it told you how to live, but because it told you how to not. He never named this book, but he would speak of it with uttermost distaste. It was the book of non-believers of course. The one that explained their foul and impure ways. Sin, filth, sex, theft, lying and lack of devotion, or even worse, devotion to someone who wasn’t him.

The book has always made you uncomfortable. Its words were harsh as it described the non-believers as nothing but mere animals. If your father had his way, he would have them all put down — in the most cruel of ways possible.

Why had he brought this book forward now? Your mind instantly goes to Taehyun, fear slipping onto your otherwise emotionless face. There was no way he could know, was there? But there was nothing your father didn’t know, nothing that went past his keen senses. It was only a matter of time until he found out about the darkness that lingered around you.

Last night you let Taehyun get close, too close. You had felt his breath on yours, his thigh brushing against you — leaving no escape for the darkness that tainted him. And you had let him, you hadn’t pushed him away; in fact you had opened the window for him. Once again you had let him inside your home, the most sacred place in the world. You had tarnished it. It was your fault.

Your father knew. You were certain. The way his piercing gaze fixated on your sweaty face, the anxiety rolling off of you in waves the way it always would when you knew you had misstepped, when you had done something wrong.

His finger trails the spine of the book, turning it slowly in his hands. “Do you recognize this?” It’s a trick question, for there was no way you could mistake that book for anything else.

You nod, “Yes, father.”

He hums, the sound low and deep in his chest. “Then you know why it is important”, he drawls, eyeing you with intent that has you refraining from squirming in your seat. Of course you knew its importance. It taught you everything you needed to know about the non-believers. It taught you what their sins were, what was going to happen to them when doomsday rose upon you.

That very book was the reason you had begun fearing the non-believers in the first place. But it was also the source of your curiosity. There was so much the pale pages left out, so many unanswered questions. Father says that only the information valuable was written in the books. Your questions were stupid and therefore disregarded. Non-believers didn’t feel the way you did, they had no remorse, no conscience.

Your father opens the book, flipping through it for a moment, already familiar with its layout. He pauses, eyes stuck to a particular page. Your heart drums in your chest, blood rushing through your body as you await his next move. — Then he places the open book in front of you, finger pointing to the top paragraph of the page.

“Read this for me.”

Your gaze zeroes in on the words, your stomach sinking at the familiar lines. The ones he had made you read so many times before. Yet today, on this particular occasion; everything was different. You clear your throat, eyes flitting up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to the page.

“He who sins is not a man, but an animal. Made out of flesh and bone but bleeds not the same blood as us. His sins are punishable, not by law but by truth. Such an animal earns no salvation when doomsday shall rise; and he will suffer a fate worse than death.”

Your voice cracks as your eyes drop to the next paragraph, throat closing up at the familiar words written out before you. But your hesitation only adds to your father’s impatience, and you feel his gaze on you — demanding you continue. So you do.

“A man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.”

Your hands are trembling when you finish. Sweat pearls on your forehead, surely glistening under the warm light of his desk lamp. You look up to see your father watching you, lips pressed into a thin line as he listens to you speak. When you’re finished, he gives a curt nod, but does not attempt to take the book from you.

“And do these words mean anything to you?”

The question makes you freeze, the fervent beating of your heart coming to an abrupt halt as your jaw slacks. He was questioning you — you could feel that now. He could sense the darkness within you, he knew that you were losing yourself to something beyond his grace, something you could never come back from.

You blink once, then twice — forcing down the tears that prickled at your eyes. “They do”, you whisper, the admission almost silent in his small office. The shadows seemed to draw in closer, licking along your arms and hovering above you, waiting to swallow you whole. They know you would let them; just as you had let Taehyun.

Father doesn’t reply right away, he seems lost in thought for a moment. He brings his hands up, resting his elbows on the wooden desk as he props his chin across his intertwined fingers. You feel naked under his gaze, dirty and wrong. Like no amount of bathing would ever make you clean again.

“Page thirty seven”, he says.

Your fingers move to turn the pages before your mind has the chance to catch up. You count the numbers, finally landing on number thirty seven. There you pause, waiting for his next instruction. From the corner of your eye, you see your father fiddle idly with his discarded glasses, emitting a deep sigh before putting them back in place.

“From the third paragraph”, he commands.

Your gaze drops to the page, eyes finding the paragraph in question as you take a deep breath.

“The man who sins abides by no laws, he takes what is not his. His sin is darkness that surrounds him, infecting those around him without effort. He cannot love, not even himself. He does not know empathy, loyalty or trust. He is filth and dirt; anyone grazed by his hand will eventually suffer his fate.”

Once you finish you pause, eyes flickering up to your father who’s watching you expectantly. He has yet to interrupt you, thus you continue reading — just like you had so many times before. Except this time the words feel like poison on your tongue.

“Undeserving of life is he who does not believe in the very pages before you. His ignorance toward something so sacred must have consequences. It is our duty to punish those of his kind; it is our duty to protect what he seeks to tarnish.”

You can barely get the last sentence out, stuttering over your own inability to perform such a simple task. But as soon as you’re finished, the book is slammed shut before you, making you flinch in your seat.

Your father leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he turns to you. He gives the closed book a pointed glance, “I want you to bring this with you. Read it before bed, do not waste your time with anything but this.”

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “For how long, father?”

His expression remains unreadable, as it always would. He rolls his thumbs over one another, but you know he is not stalling for time. He prepared an answer before you even uttered the question. You knew that he saw through you, you knew that he knew. And the knowing was terrifying. The words written were no longer about the non-believers, it was not why he had made you read. No, they were about you.

His eyes find yours, striking and cold, “Until you’ve learned.”

⸝⸝

You do not sleep for a long time that night. Hunched over your desk, you fight to keep your eyes open as you go over the pages again and again. You had cried twice, the tears were now dry on your cheeks — and you felt shameful over them. There was no reason for you to cry, for you to wallow in self pity. This was entirely your fault.

Your father was trying to help you — this was him trying to offer you salvation. If you just learned, if you just followed his teachings everything would be fine. Things would go back to how they had always been. You would be blessed once more, you would earn his approval and forgiveness. It was all that mattered.

Hand clenched into fists on either side of the open book, you mumble the words out to yourself. “Filthy, disgusting, animal, tarnished, sinister…” You repeat them like a mantra, like saying it aloud would somehow confirm what you had allowed yourself to become; what you had allowed Taehyun to make you.

If it would take you days, weeks, you would say it. You would call yourself all these horrible names if it made you clean again — if it washed away your wrongs, if it gave you a second chance.

Mother hadn’t spoken to you all evening. Neither her or father had as much as glanced your way during dinner. They knew. The house knew, its walls were looming over you; crowding in on you like a cage would a trapped animal. — Animal. That’s what you were. Undeserving of life. And as your eyes return to the page, the cycle begins once more, sending you into a pit of self loathing as you continue to read.

⸝⸝

Your feet are cold, freezing even. When you glance down you realize that you are standing barefoot on soil; toes sinking into the mushy earth. The ground is wet, soaked through by the rain that bats against your naked arms — the ones you pull around yourself in an attempt to warm up. You’re dressed in nothing but your sheer nightgown, it's drenched from the weather; clinging to your skin like a second layer.

It’s weird, you can’t see anything. No matter how many times you blink it’s just as dark, everywhere you turn. It’s not until a heavy drop falls on your cheek that you finally glance up. The night sky opens above you, the rain seems to fall slower from this angle. You understand then that you’re outside, not the commotional hall nor your house — but actually outside.

Submerged below ground level, panic starts to settle in. It is then you see him; your father. He stands by the edge of the pit you’re trapped in, an umbrella clutched tightly in one hand, the other one resting on your mother’s waist. She’s weeping, tears streaming down her face as she gives you a pitiful look.

“Mother…” Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears; doing little to overpower the hurling winds and your mother’s cries. She buries her face in your father’s chest, trembling hands clinging to the black suit he wears. Mother is, too, dressed in all black — her dress reaching all the way to her ankles.

You swallow as you take a step forward, but you only find yourself sinking deeper into the ground. “Mother, why do you cry? Mother!” She can’t hear you, no matter how loud you yell for her — your words are meaningless.

Eyes meeting your father’s, you find him regarding you with disgust — wearing the same expression he would when he spoke of the nonbelievers, the one which meant nothing but hatred; like you had done something truly unforgiving. Slowly you piece it together; their attire, the pit dug into the ground, your mother’s tears.

This was your grave.

You were dead and your mother was mourning you, crying in rhythm with the clouds as their tears caressed your shivering body.

The scream never makes it past your lips and instead you find yourself lunging forward — fingers clawing at the dirt; soil clogging under your nails as you try to dig your way up. “I’m not dead! Mother, father, I’m here!” Is what you want to tell them, but your throat is clogged by the sobs that never make it off your tongue.

“Do you get it now?”

Taehyun’s voice pierces the silence and you feel yourself go cold. Whipping around, you find him crouched by the opposite edge of the pit. He’s dressed in a suit as well, his usually wild and unkempt hair is neatly parted to the side, a single strand hanging loose as it falls across his forehead.

He tilts his head to the side, a menacing smirk stretching across his lips — eyes twinkling with gleam as he watches you. “Or did you think you were going to go unpunished, just because you’re his daughter?” He scoffs, hand curling around the soil as he picks it up, throwing it at you with a disgusted grimace.

The dirt slaps against your face before falling onto your chest. You shudder, but can’t seem to muster a response, trembling under his intense gaze. Instead you’re forced to listen to the sound of Taehyun’s laugh; it’s loud, overpowering your mother’s cries and the screaming wind. “Oh”, he says as he shakes his head, “You thought things would just be okay? That you could go back to playing Miss Perfect after having your fun with someone like me?”

He sneers, tongue dragging across his bottom lip — eyes reflecting something akin to nausea. “You’re an animal”, he spits.

Your chest contracts with pain at the harsh implication, heart biting wildly against your ribcage. “No…” You try to deny his accusations. That was a lie, Taehyun was a liar. You did everything right; you read your father’s teachings, listened to him preach, you cleaned everyday, bathed and prepared for doomsday. You were pure. This grave was not yours — but his.

Taehyun shifts slightly, and your gaze follows the movement of his hand as he reaches inside his suit to grab something. When your eyes land on the familiar dark book, they widen. You recognized its cover in an instant. — He opens it, unbothered by the heavy rainfall that pours over him as he begins to read; the words harsh and demeaning as they roll off of his tongue.

“Condemned to a cruel death is she who treads from light to dark. For her there is no salvation, no redemption. She cannot come back from the monster she has become; she cannot take back the hand of evil that has been laid upon her once untainted skin. Her devotion becomes her sin.”

The smirk on his lips widens, an almost feral look in his eyes as he shifts them from the pages and over to you.

“Her punishment shall be from the face of her grave. She will watch as the world reclaims her impure soul; and she will do so in agony.”

His last words echo through the night, leaving you shaking in fear. He shoves the book back inside his suit before standing up. The look he sends you is vicious. His face is the last thing you see — for the ground has already begun to swallow you whole. Your mother’s cries are loud in your ears, your father’s judgement heavy on your shoulders, and the image of Taehyun is forever seared into your mind.

⸝⸝

You hadn’t noticed ever falling asleep — but the tap to your window jostles you from the nightmare you had been caught up in. Your heart is still hammering in your chest and you’re drenched in a cold layer of sweat. Lifting your head from the book before you causes your back to flare up in pain.

You glance down, eyes lingering on the words plastered across the pages. The ones from your dream; the one that had felt so real. Your father’s cold gaze still lingers in the back of your mind, your mother’s sobs making your head throb. “His punishment shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.” You mumble the words, re-reading the paragraph you had fallen asleep to with a heavy heart.

The second tap to your window makes you flinch as you recall what had woken you in the first place. Turning in your seat only makes your stomach drop even further, your body twisting with guilt.

You hadn’t expected Taehyun to return, not after your last conversation — the way you had lashed out, him quietly slipping back into the shadows without as much as a word. Even though he looks like himself now, the dirt painting his face, tangled hair falling messily from his head; you still can’t shake the image of him, the one that had watched you die.

There’s a lump in your throat, one you’re unable to swallow. It hadn’t just been a nightmare, it was a prediction — a prophecy of the fate that awaited you. If you let him in now, a third time, there would be no backing out. So you turn back to your book, ignoring him to the best of your abilities as you fix your attention to the lines on the page.

He doesn’t knock again, but you can feel his presence. The darkness that lingers around him, imposing on your bedroom window as it waits to be let inside.

You’re sure at least ten minutes pass, each one filled with a dreadful silence as you try to focus. It’s no use, you’ve been stuck on the same paragraph this whole time — staring at the words like they might attempt to claw themselves free of the book's confinements and eat you alive, like if you turned your back, there was no saying what might happen.

At last you push your chair back, eyes flitting back to the window for a moment. He’s still there, dark eyes watching you quietly through the thin glass. Taehyun reminds you of a crow, ugly and dirty, frowned upon by the world yet his wings fly just the same as a dove. His taps against the window resembles its black beak, insistently requesting your attention.

Without waiting another moment you rise as you on shaky legs approach him. You pause, hand hovering above the hatch that would make everything real — the one that would confirm your sin, make it irreversible. You still open it, welcoming the cold night air as you suppress a shiver.

Taehyun doesn’t say anything, his expression remaining perfectly unreadable — reminding you of your father’s. It was an unwelcome sight, one you wanted to tear out of your mind and burn. But you can’t. There’s only one thing you can do, one thing you want to do. Talk to him. “You’re here”, the sentence comes out in one exhale.

He nods, blinking once as his dark gaze trails over the clothes you were still in — having fallen asleep before getting the chance to change into your night wear. “Why?” You ask, trying your best to mask the sadness in your voice. Taehyun should terrify you, the prophecy that had shown itself through your dream had been a clear warning, the book on your desk was your guide. So why weren’t you following it?

His jaw clenches for a moment, like he was debating his next words. Shifting on the windowsill his eyes flit down to your still trembling hand, for a second it looks almost as though he wants to reach out and take it.

“Come with me”, he finally says as his attention returns to you. His eyes hold no doubt, in fact you had never seen him so sure ever. He must have given the matter much thought, immediately sensing your hesitation, the way your legs buckle as you attempt a step back. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your wrist before you can disappear from him.

His voice is hushed, a low drawl of his tongue. “Just for tonight, you will be back before dawn — I promise.”

No. You shouldn’t, he was a non-believer, one that had intrigued you greatly until you understood the dangers of his kind. Your foolish curiosity had gotten you in this situation, it had earned you your father’s disapproval, his watchful eye now set on you. The last thing you ought to be doing is following evil right through your window, into a world so harsh there would be no return, even if you make it home by dawn.

“I can’t…” You whisper as you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. Shuddering when Taehyun’s hand loosens its grip on your wrist as he instead laces his fingers with yours. He gives you a small squeeze, wordlessly pleading with you to agree. You find his gaze, and as you study his almost hopeful face you repeat the words in your head. “Animal, undeserving of life, evil, impure.” But Taehyun doesn't look at all like the men your father described.

For a moment you allow yourself to be delusional, to pray for the man before you. Perhaps, just maybe he wasn’t what father would want to make him. If there was even the slightest possibility for Taehyun to be something other than the non-believer your books said he was… Then maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself a moment of reprieve in his presence.

You swallow down the conflicting emotions rising in your throat, glancing down to your intertwined hands. He feels human, warm and alive. Like someone you could follow, even when you know you shouldn’t. The truth scared you — but so did the thought of never seeing the snowy mountains, the rivers and the endless beaches.

The nod you give him is so subtle, it almost passes him by. But Taehyun's face lights up, a grin tugging at his lips — nothing like the cruel smirk he’d been wearing in your dream. You allow him to pull you closer, hands sliding along your arms as he guides you up on the windowsill.

Your legs tremble, not from exertion but from fear — but you do not hesitate as you put one foot before the other. Before you know it, you’re beside him, shoulder brushing against his as you inhale the crisp night air. You had been outside before, but this was different. Your father’s looming presence was nowhere to be found, neither were your mother’s tender eyes as she gauged you every step.

Birds fly high in the sky, and for a moment you feel just like them — free.

Taehyun guides carefully across the roof, quietly moving through the shadows like they were second nature. You follow him, holding onto him tightly; afraid that if you let go, you would be lost.

When you pass your father and mother’s bedroom, you stop to glance through the window. Their sleeping forms send a dagger of pain straight through your heart, the knife twisting at a torturous angle as you behold the sight. Safety was a figment of your imagination by now, and you were leaving that small flicker of light behind as you instead follow the darkness.

Soon you reach the slanted edge of the roof, the drop makes you hesitate, gaze flitting over to Taehyun in silent question. He only squeezes your hand harder before letting go completely. With wide and bewildered eyes you watch as he takes off, letting himself fall through the air before landing softly on the ground.

Dusting himself off, he stands back up to look at you. When he sees your cowering figure crouched by the roof’s edge he grins. Arms stretched to the sky he beckons for you to join him. “Trust me”, he calls for you — the sound of his voice carrying through the night. It makes something in you flutter, a strange sensation filling your chest.

Trust him… Trust was sacred, not something you just gave out. Could you really trust Taehyun? You regard his open arms, so close yet so far away. In that moment, you can't think of anywhere else you would rather be. And so with one last glance toward your bedroom window, you vow to leave behind the nightmare, your father’s words and the harsh truth — just for tonight, you would allow yourself to be free.

Then you jump.

The fall lasts forever yet it’s over in a second. It makes your stomach twist and turn, whether it was in fear or excitement, you did not know. But Taehyun’s arms wrap around you, his now familiar scent invading your senses as he pulls your body against his. Your feet haven’t even touched the ground yet, bare and exposed they dangle against his legs — afraid to take the final step.

Hiding your face in his shoulder, you cling onto the moment a little longer, not quite ready to let go. He chuckles and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your own. It’s an unfamiliar sound, laughter. Rarely, if ever heard inside the place you called home. You like Taehyun’s laugh, it’s soft — nothing at all like the harsh and jagged edges of his exterior. It comes from within, a place warm.

You let him set you down, shivering when your feet touch the grass. Pulling your face from his shoulder, you stand back to peer up at him. He’s already watching you, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place; something you had never before seen. He takes your hand, the action feeling familiar, you don’t know if you should hate or love it.

“Are you ready?” He asks, regarding you like he was half expecting you to back out — to demand he returns you to the comforts of your bedroom. Instead you nod, mustering a small smile as your fingers squeeze around his, “Yes.”

The walk is silent at first, your attention jumping from every stone, tree and rock as you descend down the road that leads through your neighbourhood. This part of the world you were familiar with. Your eyes would always be glued to the window of your father’s car whenever he took you to the commotional hall, watching with fascination as the scenery outside changed. — The asphalt is cold against your bare feet at first, but it soon dwindles into nothingness.

Taehyun offers you his shoes, but you decline. You wanted to feel the ground beneath you, it made everything all the more real.

Your hands remain interlocked as you move forward, it’s comfortable knowing that he was there. For a moment you feel guilty, guilty for taking comfort in something as dark as him, something you should stay away from. But you quickly manage to push those thoughts aside, burying them in the depths of your worrying mind, letting them stay hidden — if only for tonight.

After a while you make it out of the neighbourhood, the familiar houses disappearing behind you and giving way to tall buildings that stretch toward the sky. Father never took you or mother to the city; said it was dangerous, crawling with non-believers and filth. His words send shivers down your spine, your once eager steps faltering as you approach the dim street lights.

Taehyun notices your hesitation, his hand around yours gripping you firmer, silently pleading you stay with him. Your gaze meets his, “I’ve never been here.”

He nods, like he understands — how could he? Tonight you don’t question him. Instead you let him lead you, just the way your father always would. He had taught you everything you knew, everything you thought to be true and right. Yet it feels natural following Taehyun, despite the books and your father’s preaching, this doesn’t feel sinister.

The city is quiet, asleep — resting peacefully, far too peaceful when compared to what father’s books had told you. There were no blood baths here, no screams of agony, only the stillness of night and the soft flicker of the lights above.

Something runs out in front of you, a small shadow moving quickly across the street. It makes you flinch, a noise of surprise slipping past your lips as you cling to Taehyun a little tighter. He laughs, that same laugh that had made your chest flutter. “It’s just a rat”, he muses, eyes following the little creature as it disappears behind a dumpster.

“Oh…” You hum, awkwardly detaching yourself from his arm as you send him a sheepish smile, “I didn't know they were actually real.” At that he frowns, a hint of confusion crossing his features as he stops in his tracks, “You didn’t think rats existed?” He questions whilst eyeing you with disbelief.

You shrug, lips pursed into a pout. “I had never seen one before…”

He shakes his head, hand still laced with yours as he tugs you forward. “You really are something”, he murmurs under his breath. It was clear that his words weren’t meant to be taken seriously, but you did anyway. What was so baffling about that? Rats were dirty, filthy things. Associating with them would not reflect well in your father’s eyes. But again, you refrain from questioning him, allowing yourself to be pulled along as you dwell deeper into the city.

The large houses are nothing like your own estate. These are tall, windows stacked on top of another, counting at least four times the floors you had. “Is this one man’s house?” You wonder as you point to a particularly large building. Taehyun shakes his head, and without sparing the place a second glance he says: “No, at least fifty men live there.”

“Fifty? But how can they all fit?” You ask, giving the tall house a skeptical one over. Your home only fits three people. It was unimaginable to have any more in such a compromised space. If Taehyun was annoyed by your questions he didn’t let on to it as he kept walking, lazily swinging your hands back and forth — the movement was casual at its core, but also unrefined, something your father would reprimand you for doing.

“You have to make do with space”, he finally says after a moment's thinking. You didn’t know what that meant, but your guess was that it was each man for himself. The idea seemed intriguing, but all the more depressing.

From there a silence falls over the two of you as you descend down the vacant streets. Silently you were thankful for the late hour. The city in itself was a terrifying prospect, but the thought of running into more non-believers, it was one even worse.

So you walk, hand in hand, the sounds of your steps echoing around you — filling the comfortable quietness. You pass broken street lights, cracked parts of the pavement and a multitude of overflowing trashcans where birds gathered to search for food. Taehyun’s palm feels warm against your own as he guides you with ease, like he knows the town as well as the back of his own hand. He answers your questions with gentle hums and soft nods, never bringing up the topic that was on both of your minds; your father.

For a while you manage to forget about the dream you had had. You realize that the ground has yet to open up and swallow you whole — your bare feet remain steady on the concrete beneath. The clouds seem to hold their breath, the stars above sparkling like they would on any other night. This place is far from the paintings on your bedroom walls, there are no long beaches here, no snowy mountains or large rivers whose stream flows as steadily as the wind. But you don’t mind, for tonight this is enough.

Taehyun wasn’t the cruel non-believer your father had told you he would be. He wasn’t like you, far from it. His clothes were torn and his hair unwashed — he was dirty, but he wasn’t an animal. Because animals didn’t treat you like you were human. And Taehyun did.

You halt when passing by a shopping window as your eyes become glued to the glass. It was dark inside the store, but the street light above illuminates the mannequins, all dressed in long flowy dresses with different floral patterns. Your gaze lingers on one with a green dress, the dark flowers painted on with precision, each one blooming on the fabric.

“Do you like it?” Taehyun asks, he stands beside you, so close that your shoulders brush against one another. You nod, not taking your eyes off of the mannequin, “I do.”

Father would never allow you to wear dresses like that. Your skirts reached just below your knees, the shirts you wore had to be buttoned all the way — ironed to perfection in order to stay in place. A dress like that… One that moved in the wind, drew attention towards itself… It was most improper. You should find it repulsive, but all you can do is sigh as you stand by the window, imagining what it would look like on you instead of the lifeless doll.

Catching a glimpse of Taehyun in the reflection, you regard him for a moment. He’s not looking at the mannequin, instead his gaze is fixed on you. It had become almost normal to feel his eyes resting on your frame whenever you weren’t watching; much so that you had almost forgotten about the darkness that surrounded him.

From here, through the dirty glass of the store’s large window, as you stand side by side. He doesn’t look much different from you. Not the way you had imagined a non-believer to at least. You squeeze his hand a little harder, as if to make sure that this was actually real. He squeezes your hand back and you catch the small tug of his lips through the corner of your eye.

“People wear this?” You ask, still regarding the green floral dress. Taehyun hums in acknowledgement. “Some do”, he shrugs, “They’re expensive, not everyone can afford them.”

Money. Your father had taught you the importance of that. Those who were irresponsible with it would, too, fall ill when doomsday rose. Splurging it on things unnecessary was a waste of something so sacred. This dress — it was sinful, he would not allow you to purchase it. “Can you afford it?” You finally tear your gaze from the mannequin as you glance over at Taehyun.

He hesitates for a moment, eyes darting toward the window before returning to you. “No”, he says. You can only nod. How one obtained money was still a mystery to you. Father said only those deserving of it could access it. Only the ones meant for it. Maybe Taehyun wasn’t.

With one last longing glance toward the dress you continue walking, and this time you’re tugging him along as you venture down the street.

There was no destination, only aimless wandering. Purposeless. Something your father would have hated. But he wasn’t here tonight. In fact this was the first time in forever where you had been in his absence. It felt wrong, but not like sin — no, it felt freeing. To be free without a purpose in life was not something you wanted to be punished for, even though you knew you would be.

Taehyun hasn’t said anything for a long while. His hand in yours and the sounds of your joint footsteps are the only indication he is still there. You don’t wish for him to speak — but you don’t wish his silence either. It was confusing, leaving you questioning yourself as your feet pulled you forward.

You don’t stop by any of the other windows, and you keep your gaze ahead — avoiding any temptation that might rise if you pause to let your eyes linger for too long. It would just be another reminder of what you couldn’t have; what you shouldn’t have.

When you reach a street crossing you stop, eyes focused on nothing in particular. Taehyun halts beside you, but he doesn’t question you, and you didn't question him either. During your second meeting you had told him that you knew exactly what his kind was. You had read about them your entire life after all. But that was a lie. You know nothing about Taehyun — only that the darkness around him was different from the darkness in your father’s books.

Exhaling softly, you watch as the condensation of your breath as it carries out into the air before diminishing into nothing. You turn toward him, meeting his gaze that holds at least a thousand silent questions for you — but you have one of your own. “I want to see where you live.” Your voice is a lot steadier than you had anticipated, but the inquiry still hangs heavy in the air for you can clearly see the way Taehyun’s shoulders tense, his hand tightening its grip on yours for a second too long.

It was something that had been on your mind for a while. His home. You longed to see it, the house of a non-believer. Was it messy? A reflection of himself? Or maybe it looked just like your own, tidied to perfection — all in preparation for the day that was to come; the day when the world was going to end.

Taehyun doesn't answer you, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw clenched to the point where it might have even pained him. “No.” The finalisation in his tone is evident, like he was set on not speaking further about the subject.

“Why not?” You cannot mask the disappointment as your brows draw together in a frown. He had nothing to hide — you already knew that he was a non-believer, a sinner. But he seems firm in his decision and you can barely get another word at as he continues walking, this time he doesn’t wait for you as he forcefully pulls you along.

Stumbling after him, the questions all come pouring out of you in an inconsistent manner. “Is it far? Will we not make it back in time? Perhaps we can go tomorrow night?” No answer. Taehyun is no longer looking at you, his eyes set on the road ahead as he steers you through the sleeping city, his steps hurried, like he had somewhere to be.

“Forget it”, he simply says.

“But why?”

He comes to an abrupt halt, spinning around on the spot — his face inches from yours, teeth bared as he snarls, “Because I said so, alright?”

You flinch, blinking hastily as your mouth opens and closes. Taehyun had never snapped at you like that — had never raised his voice, even when you were lashing out on him. You had never seen him like this, so filled with anger. It scared you; more than your father ever had — and that was terrifying.

His chest is heaving, ragged breaths slipping past his chapped lips. He waits for you to speak, possibly cry, you could already feel the tears that prickled in the corners of your eyes. You had done something wrong, misstepped somehow and you didn’t know how to fix it. “I just…” The words are lodged in your throat, your voice on the verge of cracking, “I just don’t understand…”

Taehyun scoffs, his hand letting go of yours as he runs his fingers through his dirty hair. He averts his gaze, refusing to even look at you. It hurt more than it should have, more than you should allow it to. You reach for him, hesitating when he pulls back. “I’m sorry.” You mean it. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I don’t have a home.”

He blurts it out, like he was dying to just get it off his chest and be over with. The statement feels as though a brick had been slammed onto your face. What did he mean by that? How could he not have a home? Where did he sleep at night, where did he eat — what was going to happen to him on doomsday? Non-believers were not like you, that wasn’t news. But… This, this was.

He’s not meeting your eyes. There’s an almost unnoticeable tremble to his hands as he keeps them by his sides, balled up into fists; knuckles white. You regard his tense face, the look he wears is shameful, like it took everything to admit what he just had. Father would tell you that this was what his kind deserved, an animal has no place in a house — that he should be thankful if even the streets accepted him.

You realized then why he had so easily come and gone. Why he’d been able to slip back into the shadows like they meant nothing; like they didn’t frighten him in the slightest. He didn’t know his way around the city just because he could — he had to. This was his home, filthy and crawling with rats. He lived like an animal, but he wasn’t one.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you reach for his hand; soft fingers silently brushing over the rough surface of his. He doesn’t uncurl his fist, but you wrap both hands around him anyway; holding tight. You did not think Taehyun was undeserving of a home. The idea of him sleeping somewhere besides a warm bed at night, it would have made your father gleam with contempt, yet you can only find yourself sympathising with him.

He’s still not looking at you, which feels weird considering he always would. You run your fingers across his knuckles, not caring for how grimy and dirty they were; not when you knew the reason behind it. “Are you cold at night?” He must be, the longer you remain rooted in place, the more biting the chill against your bare feet becomes. You could only imagine what a whole night outside must feel like.

“Sometimes”, he mutters. Glancing up, you find him watching the flickering street lights like they intrigued him to no end. You knew that they didn’t, that he was just looking for anything that would put distance between the two of you. That distance feels even colder than the night ever could.

“I’m sorry.”

You were — and just for tonight, you did not feel guilty for your sorrows to a man so despicable by your father’s standards.

Taehyun’s fist uncurls under your fingers, his hand relaxing into yours. His gaze returns to you, heavy with something you can’t quite place. “I don’t need your condolences”, he gruffly says, though you can still pick apart the gratitude between the lines. You smile, “I know.”

After that you walk home. This time around the silence is no longer filled with unspoken questions and intrigue — only a sense of knowing, even if it lacked the understanding. There was so much you had yet to wrap your head around, so many things that did not make any sense in your scrambled mind. Normally you would have drowned yourself in your father’s books, repeating the words over and over until you finally grasped their meaning. Tonight you allow yourself to not understand, to live with the knowing and accept everything that came with it.

The sky has turned from a pitch black to a dark blue by the time you arrive back at the familiar neighbourhood. You know the way home from here, but you still let Taehyun lead you down the street, his steps soft against the asphalt. He doesn’t take you to the back of the house, where you had originally descended from. Instead he steers you toward the living room window, the one he had fled through on your first encounter. Father never locked the windows downstairs — you couldn’t quite understand why, but as with a lot of things tonight; you didn’t question it.

Taehyun lets go of your hand to quietly push the glass open. The precision of his every move was fascinating to watch, and you do so with great curiosity. You only freeze when you feel his hands on your waist, the touch scorching hot in the cold night. “Trust me”, he says with the small twitch of his lip. You do.

He hoists you up, effortlessly propping you up on the windowsill whilst he remains outside. The two of you remain silent, listening to the sound of each other's soft breaths. You know that this moment was coming to an end, that soon he would disappear back into the shadows; returning to a mere concept in your head as the sun rises.

“Will you come see me again?”

You had never asked him that before. Taehyun pauses, hands resting on the windowsill either side of you. His eyes flicker with something you thought to be hope, your question had surprised him just as much as it had you. “Do you want me to?” He wonders, voice no louder than a whisper.

“Yes.”

His lips stretch into a grin, one that makes him look much younger than he probably is. You find yourself smiling too; and you resist the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, in any way you could. — He nods, “Then I will.”

It felt good, knowing that he was returning — better than it should. But tonight there was no room for guilt. For a moment it looks as though he’s about to say something else, his breath caught in his throat and his dark eyes searching yours. But then he suddenly lets go of the window, pushing himself back before giving you one last glance. He disappears into the shadows after that, leaving you to watch over his retreating figure.

⸝⸝

Father knew. You didn’t know how or when he’d found out; but he knew. It was palpable in the way his stern gaze would linger on you whenever you entered the room. He would gauge your every move, the way you clutched the rag between your fingers, gently wiping the china down until it sparkled bright enough to blind. He never addressed you, his silence weighed heavy on your shoulders.

You wondered if he knew that you knew. Why wasn't he saying anything? Surely he could feel the darkness that emitted from you, black smoke seeping through the put together act you tried so hard to maintain — you were bound to crack under his watchful eyes. Even when it had become routine to walk on eggshells around him, it somehow felt different this time. Usually you would be afraid of slipping up, making a mistake that would earn you his harsh hand against your cheek. This time the mistake had already been made, now he was waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Mother doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she refrains from speaking on it. Just the way she always would. Locking herself in their room when your father disciplined you. She was a coward, but you could not fault her. Your father was a terrifying man. But you did not resent him, after all; he was trying to protect you. It was thanks to your father that you had managed to keep the evil at bay. No darkness lingered around his shadow, he was pure — and he would make you pure as well, one way or the other.

So it is no surprise when he asks you to stay after dinner that night. The food on your plate had since long gone cold, for you had been unable to stomach more than a bite or two. Neither mother or father questioned it. — You sit perfectly still in your seat, hands clasped over your lap as you keep your gaze down. The sound of porcelain clinking together as your mother clears the table is all that can be heard. Your father waits patiently for her departure.

It seems to drag on forever, but soon enough her footsteps echo down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving you and father be. He sits quietly for a while, fingers toying with the white tablecloth before he smooths it out again. “You look tired”, he drawls and your gaze flickers up to meet his as you bring a hand to your face. The bags under your eyes had surely grown over the past nights — there was little you could do to cover them.

“Have you not been sleeping well?” He asks, brows furrowing like he was trying to rip the truth from your throat; even though he already had it in his palm. You swallow, there was no point in denying it. You had been sleeping poorly. Whenever Taehyun was not around, you would spend your time thinking about him. Sometimes you would draw his face from memory, imagining what he was doing at that very moment as you did. Though you would always tear the paper when you were done, letting it burn over a lit candle.

You slowly nod, “I have been doing my readings at night time, father.” It was a lie, the first you had ever told him. It makes your chest rip with guilt, and you pray he cannot catch the slight tremble to your bottom lip. You hoped your answer would please him, you were devoting yourself to everything that was him; to what was important. The sleepless nights were not wasted, simply they were filled with purpose.

But you were wrong. You can hear his anger before you can feel it, the crackling of his chair as he shifts toward you, the sound of his open palm colliding with your cheek. It stings at first, like fire on ice, an imaginary wound slicing across your face. The force of his harsh slap makes your head jerk, but you don’t pull away. Instead you bite your tongue, pushing back the involuntary tears that prickle in your eyes.

You would like to think that he was doing this out of goodwill. He was reprimanding you for being a liar; for crossing the lines he’d drawn all those years ago. Father was getting you on the right track again, just like he always would.

“Foolish girl”, he mutters under his breath, the words laced with venom. You did not think you were a fool. But father was always right — to go against him… The thought makes you shudder as you recall the night you had spent with Taehyun, outside, away from home; just the way father had forbidden you do. Back then you hadn’t felt guilt, not the way you did now. But his eyes are impossible to escape, and you felt naked before him — all your sins exposed for him to mock.

He rises to his feet, the sound of his chair scraping against the shiny floors ringing in your ears. “You think you can deceive me?” He barks, his voice loud and commanding, the same one he would use when he spoke of the non-believers to your community. You shake your head ‘no’ but you don’t dare utter a single word as you keep your gaze down. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising force. You suppress a wince.

It was impossible to say what had made him snap, perhaps it had been the stillness of the evening, your unbearing silence or your mother’s confused glances. It doesn’t matter, not anymore, not when father was looking down on you like the world had made him a disgrace. “You are weak”, he says and you know he is right. The grip on your wrist tightens to a point that makes you want to cry out, then he lets go.

You are weak. Tempted by your own curiosity you had let a non-believer close, inside your home; the one your father worked so hard to protect. You had followed darkness through your window, out into the world you had no place in. You had tainted yourself with evil, and you had done so knowingly. There was no excuse, no salvation — your fate had been sealed the moment you had taken Taehyun’s hand, the moment you had left your father behind for another man.

The sound of his retreating footsteps is all you hear and for a long while you linger by the table. Tears roll down your cheeks, they’re silent, like they’re ashamed to even be there. The guilt is like an animal gnawing away at your bones, biting your flesh and licking your blood as it consumes you whole. You don’t know if it will ever go away.

The pads of your fingertips are soft against your cheek, it’s still warm, burning with your father’s touch. Usually the guilt would go away after he had laid his hand on you, not today. Your punishment had been delivered but the sin was irreversible. No redemption, no salvation. Just like his books had said.

⸝⸝

When you finally return to your room, the sun has already set. You pray Taehyun won’t come see you tonight, even when you had asked him to. There was no room for him in your mind, only the self loathing and hatred.

You let the door fall shut behind you, gaze falling on your desk in search of the dark book you thought could salvage you. The desire to read over the lines once more was mounting with each ragged breath you took. But to your horror you find it missing, the desk is empty with no sign of it ever being there in the first place. Quickly you rush to your bookshelf, scanning the existing ones there — but you turn up empty handed.

Father must have taken it. No one else would have, would they? But why? Did he not want you to learn, to understand your mistakes? It was then it dawned upon you — if father had taken the book it could only mean one thing. He truly deemed you to be unworthy of salvation. His discipline and his preaching had reached its end; he would no longer be fending off the darkness for you, but let you bask in it instead.

Falling to your knees, you can’t contain the sob that escapes your lips. The prophecy of your dream had come true after all. Your father’s look of disgust as he stood by the ledge of your grave, it had all been real. You had been warned and yet you had defied every single sign that tried to lead you back to safety — no, you had followed the darkness, allowing yourself to put the guilt aside, to tarnish a life of devotion to a man who had never even learned said word’s meaning.

This was all your fault — and the worst part was that you did not feel any resentment toward Taehyun. No matter how hard you tried, your heart could never take back what it had given him. “His punishment shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.” You mumble the words out, hands trembling as you brace them against the floor. This was your agony, your own torment. The grave was already dug, you had done it yourself; all that was left was for you to lie in it — to let the earth reclaim your impure soul.

VIII

The book is heavy in Taehyun’s hands. He’s been staring at its blank cover for at least fifteen minutes now, unable to bring himself to open it. At first he’d felt bad, stealing from you whilst also deliberately asking you to ‘trust him’ — but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What was it that existed between these pages that seemed to hold you prison? Taehyun wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out.

Tonight the dark alleyway he calls home is quiet, the crying children have fallen asleep on their dirty mattresses, hugging their mothers tightly. The drunks were all passed out and the rest opted for a silent and still night. That left Taehyun undisturbed as he leans against the cold brick wall, eyes dragging across the book he’d snatched from your table.

With one final sigh he wills himself to turn the first page. The bindings are, as he presumed, handmade. He wonders if it’s your father’s work — he wouldn’t put it past the old man, for he already seemed to control every aspect of your life. His eyes skim the first page, it wasn’t a published book, that much he could tell. It opens up strong, ominous even; like a warning.

“Those undeserving shall not bestow their filthy hands on this book.”

The first line makes him frown, confusion painting his face as he turns the page. He finds no pictures as he begins to flip through it; only paragraphs upon paragraphs of texts. They’re split into what he presumes to be chapters, divided by a single blank page and a new subtitle. He reads the first one: “A Non-believer.” Taehyun tries the words on his tongue, they’re familiar — something he’d called you before, he recalls the evening as if it had been yesterday; your horrified expression, the way you had demanded he leave. Curiosity now piqued, he begins reading.

“The man of no belief is a man lacking discipline. He indulges in pleasure, seeks it out. He justifies his faults in favor of his greed. The non-believer does not know any other way of life, nor does he care for what shall happen to his soul when the day of doom rises upon us all. He is infected, cursed with a sin irreversible.”

He pauses, finger lingering by the end of the paragraph. “The day of doom…” He murmurs to himself. Taehyun did not know what that meant, but as he continues to flip through the pages he finds that it's a recurring phrase. Doomsday. Something that, according to this book, had yet to happen, and when it did; these people were its first target. He scoffs at the ridicule of it all, deciding to just give it a rest and quietly return the book when suddenly, his eyes catch on a phrase.

“Animal.”

A flicker of recognition flashes in his mind, gaze following the accompanying sentence. “The non-believer is no different from an animal. Dirty and foul like the rats that crowd their streets, violent and angered like a rabid dog, uncaring and unforgiving like the bite of a poisonous snake. They deserve no place amongst us — treat them accordingly.” Taehyhun could have sworn he’s heard you utter that word under your breath. He can still hear your trembling voice, see your frightened eyes.

By now he’s far too engrossed in the book to ever put it down. Instead he navigates the different subtitles. “The non-believer. His sins. Punishment. Repel it. The way to salvation”, and lastly, “The man who treated the non-believer as man.” His eyes linger for a moment longer on that one, a spark of something he can’t quite explain igniting somewhere in his chest. His fingers filter through the pages, quickly finding the chapter.

“A man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.”

The paragraph breaks before continuing:

“To defy this book's very essence is a crime just as severe as that of the non-believer’s. By letting himself close to the filth of a non-believer, the devoted man will lose himself along the way. He will become a shell of what he once was; and he will join the non-believer on doomsday as they both face the punishment that awaits them. Joined by the hand, his devotion and faith will not save him from the non-believer’s darkness. It swallows him before he is even aware he is drowning.”

Taehyun slams the book shut, throat tight as he takes an unsteady breath. Slowly the clouds on the sky above him parts, and he realizes the true meaning of what he had just read. He understands now why you had become hysterical when he had mentioned your lack of faith. For you believed, you devoted yourself with all your soul — but there was no God in your heart, only the tainted words of your father.

The paper rips under his fingers as Taehyun tears the pages, one by one. Sentences he’d just read flash before his eyes, the phrases ringing in his ears — but he is set on destroying them all. The book’s handmade bindings breaking under his rough treatment, something you held so sacred coming apart by the touch of his hand. Taehyun doesn’t feel any remorse for destroying it, and once there are no pages left to tear, he stands on shaky legs.

He approaches the fire set up by a now heap of passed out drunks. Stepping over their unconscious bodies, Taehyun crouches before the flames. Without thinking twice he begins tossing the crumbled papers into the fire, watching as the flames engulf them. The embers sizzle under the disruption, and the walls around him glow under the orange light, making his dark shadow appear multiple times its size on the bricks.

Taehyun watches as the book burns before him, his eyes lingering on the simple “Animal” as the fire slowly eats away at the word. His face twists into a scowl, hands clenching into fists as he glares at the phrase: “They deserve no place amongst us — treat them accordingly.” Him? An animal? Anger boils under his skin, clawing its way from his chest, demanding to be released, but he forces it down again.

Soon there’s nothing left of the book, the flames swallowing it without hesitation; like it had never meant anything in the first place. Taehyun however, knows that that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

IX

The rain is ruthless as it bats against your bedroom window. It pounds against the glass, demanding it be let in, but you ignore it. Back pressed against the wall, you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs as you try to make yourself as small as possible. If you could disappear, you would do so right now; silently you pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole — to have the earth reclaim your soul, even if it would do so with force.

Your wrist throbs, cheek still burning after your father’s hand on your skin. It no longer hurt, but the shame cut deep into your flesh — tearing it apart and taking root there. You tried to wash it off, to rid yourself of the everlasting feeling of guilt, but no matter how hard you scrubbed it wouldn’t go away. And when you had regarded your reflection in the mirror, all you could see was the sin written across your face.

Hues of purple and blue adorn your wrist like a bracelet, except this one wasn’t meant to be worn with pride. You remember his harsh grip on you, the way he had wordlessly condemned you for your faults. Father was right. There was no salvation for someone like you — you should have known better, you should have never gotten tangled up in the mess that was Taehyun.

But even as you sit alone in your dark room, you can’t help but gaze toward the window. It was particularly cold on this night, the rain merciless as it poured from the sky. Was he cold? Wet? Did the weather bother him — had he found shelter somewhere? The lump in your throat grows in tune with the size of your heart. It aches for him, even when you know it shouldn’t. If father could hear its beating, he would tear it out with his own hands.

The hours passed in a blur, time was now a concept, something you could no longer grasp. Instead you let it pass you by, what was the point in trying to keep track anymore? There was nothing left for you anyway.

When the house has been silent for a good while, your thoughts finally seem to quiet down. The rain sings to you like a lullaby, urging for you to forget — to let your body go limp against the mattress and just fall into a slumber you hopefully would never rise from. But before you can do any of that, a tap to your window pulls you from your daze. It’s louder than the harsh raindrops that bats against the glass, fervent and familiar.

You don’t have to turn your head and look to know it was him. By now you were sure you could make even his shadow out in an ocean of darkness. So without thinking, you rise to your feet — your mind doesn’t even try to stop you anymore, it's tired of fighting against your heart; tired of losing every single time.

Without meeting his dark gaze you reach for the window hatch, undoing it with practiced ease as you open yourself up to him just like you had so many times before. The rain is louder now, the hurling winds striking you across your face — just like your father had. This doesn’t hurt half as bad.

You step aside, allowing Taehyun to take shelter from the harsh conditions outside as he soundlessly slips inside your room. After that you seal the window shut behind him, leaving the storm to rage outside as you confront the one within you. He’s wet, soaked from head to toe, dark hair sticking to his forehead and his torn clothes dripping. You should mind the mess, your home was sacred and your father would never let as much as a speck of dust accumulate in any of the corners. But you don’t care — not anymore. You were already cursed, sentenced to a fate worse than death. So what was the point in caring if no one else did?

It’s not until Taehyun’s cold fingers slide under your chin that you finally meet his gaze. He’s tilted your head up, eyes boring into your own as the brows on his forehead furrow. “I came”, he simply says, like it was the easiest thing in the world, “Just like you asked me to.” You had asked him to come, your heart had won over your mind countless times and that night had been no different. Deep in your chest you craved his presence, even when your head told you it was dangerous.

“I know.” Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, your eyes dry from shedding all their tears. There was no emotion left, nothing but a shell of endless shame. You’re certain he can see it on your face — the way you can’t keep your bottom lip from trembling or the way your jaw clenches under his gentle touch. Even then, he remains silent; like the simple question would break the illusion, that it would make everything real.

“Are you okay?” Is what he wants to say, you’re almost sure. But Taehyun already knows the answer, he would be a fool not to. You wonder if he blames himself — why should he? This was your fault, it had been all along, since your very first encounter. The wrongdoing had been yours since the beginning and it would continue that way until the end.

You shudder when his hand drops from your face, body tensing as his fingers slide down your arm. The feel of his skin on yours is strangely warm against your otherwise numb body — but it doesn’t burn like it usually would. It no longer feels like sin; only a strange sense of acceptance, acceptance that this was all that was left for you now.

The bruises on your wrist don't hurt under the pads of his fingertips but the look on Taehyun’s face makes your heart clench. Blue, purple and yellow bloom on your skin like flowers in spring, except they’re not nearly as beautiful. Your father’s touch remains engraved on you, a reminder of who you had become — of what you had made yourself. An animal.

“He did this.” Taehyun’s solemn voice holds no question and your breath hitches at the comment. How did he know? You open your mouth to object, to tell him that you had just gotten into a clumsy accident. But that would only be another lie spilling from your poisoned lips — another betrayal to yourself; you don’t know how many more you can take.

You don’t reply. There are no words that could ever come close to describing the despair in your soul; condemned to the place you had done everything to avoid your entire life. It was all gone now, and there was nothing you could do to reverse it. Now your only reprieve was the darkness you had tried to repel, it was the only thing who still saw you for what you were, for what you had always been.

Taehyun lifts your arm, you don’t question him — you had stopped doing that a long time ago. The questions would only lead to more curiosity and more curiosity would lead to… You freeze when his lips meet the bruised skin of your wrist. Taehyun isn’t looking at you, his eyes closed, wet lashes meeting the high of his cheeks as he presses a tender kiss to the source of your shame. Part of you wants to yank yourself free, to rip yourself from his grasp and push him back through the window he’d come from. He should not treat something as sinful as the mark of your father like that… Like he…

You swallow, hand trembling when his fingers laces with yours. Taehyun’s gaze flickers up to meet yours; it's filled with an unspoken apology, one you didn’t deserve. Lips still brushing against your skin, his hot breath fanning across your wrist, he asks: “Does it hurt?”

What an utterly stupid question. Of course it didn’t hurt — even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. This was your punishment, your truth. That was something you would have to live with, forever. You shake your head, telling him that no, it didn’t. But the frown on his face only deepens. “No”, he murmurs, the hand still laced with yours moving to your chest, knuckles brushing against the rapid beating of your heart, “Does it hurt?”

Your stomach twists into knots. Yes, no — I don’t know? Maybe? I don’t want it to. Make it go away. Please. The words get caught in your throat, knowing that if you attempt to speak now you might regret it in the next second. But what matter is the regret if you had already sinned past the point of salvation. Maybe the guilt and shame was all you had left, the only piece of yourself that you could fully cling on to before you let the darkness take you completely.

“It won’t stop”, you admit in a shaky whisper. It was the only truth you knew how to convey, the only thing real in your own pitiful wallowing. Your heart had been aching your whole life, that had never gone away. It had ached for something it had never known. The ocean, the treetops, the sun that set over the horizon and the birds that roamed the skies. Your heart had been longing for something for as long as it had been beating; but you had never known what.

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a long while. His silence you were accustomed to, but it feels different tonight. You don’t realize how close he is. Not until his warm breath meets yours, the tip of his nose nudging your own. “I can’t make it stop”, he says in a hoarse whisper and you desperately want to believe him. In fact you’re so desperate to feel anything but your own self pity and shame that you don’t stop him, even when he leans close, too close.

Closer than anyone ever had.

His kiss is slow — ghost like, an idea of what could be, rather than what actually is. You had never kissed anyone before, you had not a single clue what a kiss was supposed to even feel like. Probably not like this. It doesn’t matter. Taehyun is all you have now — his sin is your salvation, you have come to realize that.

Your hands go for his shoulders, short nails sinking into their apex as you pull yourself closer. A small noise rips from the back of your throat as you attempt to kiss him back, you don’t know what the noise means. It doesn’t matter. Taehyun lets you kiss him, he doesn’t care for how uncoordinated your lips move against his, how jagged your breaths are or the pitiful sounds you make. His hands are familiar but not the same when they find your hips, he holds on to you like you’re real, like you mean something. — Do you really?

His footsteps and yours drum against the floorboards, feet bumping into one another as he aims for your bed. The back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your eyes shooting open when you fall backward. Enveloped by the soft and clean sheets, your bodies become a tangled, joint mess amongst the duvet. Taehyun is wet, cold, dirty — the way your father would repel, the way you should too. Yet all you want is to feel him closer.

Taehyun gasps against your lips and only when he pulls back for a brief moment do you realize that your lungs are aching for air. Your chest heaves with each breath you take, hands trembling when they slide down his arms — fingers trying to tear their way through his already torn clothes.

Propped on his elbows, Taehyun’s face hovers inches from your own. He’s looking at you, with the same dark and cunning eyes he always used. There’s something familiar about them, something sinister that comforts you when it shouldn’t. You watch as they flutter when your fingers skim across his chest, your own eyes widening at the revelation.

“We shouldn’t.” Taehyun’s voice is a low drawl of his tongue, one that leaves no room for questions. You know what he’s implying. Sex is not a sin, father says so. It is purposeful. To bring life. That is its purpose, you know as much. But not all sex has purpose — too much, or the wrong kind, that is sin. And sex with a non-believer, with someone like Taehyun; that was the gravest of sins.

You shake your head, “We need to.”

He looks confused, dark brows pulled into a frown as he regards you. There is no way for you to explain it, this feeling in your chest; the one that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you prayed. You know now that it will never go away, the shame and the guilt is a part of you now. Unless… Unless something even darker can replace it. Taehyun is that darkness. This needs to happen, no matter the consequences.

You watch as he shifts above you, uncertainty written across his face. His jaw is clenched tightly, lips drawn into a thin line as he meets your pleading expression. “You said you could make it stop”, you practically sob — just barely remembering to keep your trembling voice down. “Make it stop, please.” Your fingers dig into his arms with a force that probably pained him. Yet Taehyun’s face remains perfectly unreadable, except for the subtle twitch of his brow.

“You have to make it stop.”

The words hang heavy in the shivering cold air — the storm outside raging against your windows, making the glass tremble under its force. For a long while he doesn’t say anything, remaining perfectly still and quiet as he regards you with a look you can’t decipher. There was something different about him tonight, a different kind of pain lingering within his dark eyes. For a second you thought yourself to catch something flickering in the depths of his irises. Recognition. Like he knew something, something he shouldn’t.

But before you have time to question it, his fingers brush along your shoulder. They hook around the strap of your nightgown, testing its elastic slowly. His gaze is fixed on his own movement, watching intently when he pushes the thin piece down your arm. He does the same to the other strap. Slow. Methodical. “You don’t know what you’re asking”, he says but makes no move to stop as he instead peels your thin nightgown down your chest.

You shudder as the cool air washes over your skin just the way you imagine waves caress the shore on windy mornings. Part of you wants to object, tell him that you knew everything you needed to and more. Another part of you knows that’s a lie. And lies you were sick of. — “It doesn’t matter”, you choke out, hands shaking as they claw at his shirt, demanding it off. Taehyun obliges with an almost breathless sigh.

Never before had you seen another man’s naked body. Your father had always deemed privacy to be part of etiquette. Only when you were young had you caught a glimpse of your mother in the mirror. But even she had quickly shied away and urged you out of the bathroom. The body was a sacred place. Taehyun’s is filled with darkness. So is yours. That made you similar, you think.

His skin is damp, the remnants of the rain outside laying as evidence across his bare chest. The muscles rippling across his stomach tense under your reverent touch, a shallow exhale passing his chapped lips as your nails trace every crevice and contour. Deep in your bones you knew that this was wrong, that there was no return from the path you were descending. But your soul’s fate was already sealed off, so why should it matter?

Your attention flickers to his face as you try and gauge his reaction, though you find Taehyun’s dark eyes glued to your chest. It is then you realize that there was nothing covering you from him. The one thing your father had urged you to treasure; so easily given away to nothing more than a mere thief. Your nipples harden, but whether that was from the chilly air or Taehyun’s hot stare, you did not know. It feels weird. Not bad. Just weird. Foreign.

He doesn’t touch you. You wish he would. Does he not want you? Perhaps he doesn’t find you beautiful. The possibility makes you shudder. Instead you reach for his hand, fingers sliding along his just like they had before. You guide him slowly, letting his knuckles brush against your stomach, then your ribs. His palm is rough against your smooth skin when it settles against your breast and you exhale a shaky breath.

No one has ever touched you like this before — so intimately. It was sacred. Taehyun’s hand against yours doesn’t feel wrong, it doesn’t feel dark nor tainted; but right. You let go, arm falling limply to your side as you watch the confusion on his face morph into something else; something dangerously close to desire. His thumb brushes against your nipple, pausing when he feels you shiver beneath him, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he continues.

Your eyes flutter as his lips brush along your collarbone, the touch faint on your warm skin — so close yet so far away. He leaves soft almost unnoticeable kisses along your chest, each one more sure than the last. His hand squeezes around your breast, the subtle action making your back arch off the mattress as your head tips back. “More”, you plead, uncaring for the way your voice wavers on the last syllable.

Taehyun’s mouth finds the edge of your jaw, his kisses are hotter now — almost feverish. “Don’t expect me to stop…” He rasps between pecks, hands leaving your chest as he pulls your nightgown past your legs, tossing it aside to be forgotten just like the rest of the room had been. You only shake your head, thighs parting as you invite him further; to a place where no one else had before ventured.

Taehyun doesn’t bother to look, he feels you with his fingers — brushing over parts that make you feel euphoric. A silent moan rolls off your tongue, something so ungraceful and wrong but all you can feel is pleasure. He kisses you again, harder this time, not quite matching the slow and gentle caress of his fingers between your legs. It doesn't matter. You kiss him back in a frenzy, mouth parting to let him in just like your window had so many times.

Your father hasn’t crossed your mind once. His harsh words no longer linger. For every kiss, every touch of Taehyun’s, his darkness covers the one your father had left. It’s a slow, almost tortuous process; but you would not succumb. Your fingers tangle in his dark and dirty hair, desperately tugging on the messy strands as you pull him impossibly close, closer than anyone had ever come. He would be the first. Your heart hopes he will be the only.

“Make it stop.” You barely register the words as they leave your lips in a hushed whisper. But Taehyun does. He stills against you, kiss breaking apart suddenly as he leans back to look you in the eyes. You wonder if he can see the fear lingering within them, if this scares him just as much as it does you; if he wants this just as much as you.

The sound of what you assume to be his zipper echoes through the darkness, and Taehyun’s mouth is back on yours. “I will.”

It hurts at first. But it’s not the same kind of pain your father would give you, the one of punishment; the one of sin. This was different, for better or worse you did not know. Taehyun’s forehead is pressed against your own, sweat sliding down the side of his face. He pauses, hand on your waist as he keeps you still. “Are you okay? This usually hurts the first time.”

You swallow as you nod. The burn was good, you had come to that conclusion. The kind that seared into your soul, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. You welcomed it. “Yes”, you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck as you attempt to move him closer, “I like it.”

Taehyun doesn’t hesitate after that, his hips snapping against yours with force that makes you wince. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the paintings you had hung up, the ones you had painted on your own, move back and forth in tune with each thrust he gives. The pace he sets is brute and unforgiving, the one that leaves no room for the dark thoughts that had plagued your mind all night.

“Kiss me again.” The demand slips out before you can think twice, your eyes wide when they meet his. Taehyun wordlessly complies, lips reconnecting with yours in a violent mess of teeth and tongue, the kind where you didn't know where one of you ended and the other started. You think you merged into one at some point, your shared darkness bleeding into a joint pool of nothingness, leaving your bodies untouched; even if just for tonight.

For the first time for as long as you could remember you allowed yourself to be everything and nothing at all. This was the closest you had ever come to freedom — your body felt like it was floating, levitating off the mattress, taking you somewhere far away. Except Taehyun is with you, and you don’t mind, you want him there, as close as possible, never to let go.

“Tell me if it’s too much– I can slow down–” He exhales against your lips, pulling back enough to let you catch your breath. But you only shake your head, trembling hands reaching for his face. The sharp and jagged edges of his jaw feel soft under your touch, nothing like the Taehyun you thought you knew. “More, I want more”, you manage to gasp, one of your legs weakly lifting to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer.

Taehyun groans, his head falling to your shoulder as he lets the kiss go on for what felt like forever. Time lost all concept when you were in his arms, and though you should feel scared, terrified even — you don’t. Taehyun is the darkness, the sin and the impurity your father has spent all his life warning you about. So why aren’t you screaming? Why does your body burn not from pain but pleasure?

Perhaps your father had been wrong… Or had you been cursed all along? Doomed from the beginning.

Your thoughts short circuit when one of Taehyun’s rough hands reaches between your joint bodies. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, forcing your back to arch off the mattress as you writhe beneath him. His fingers brush against a spot, one that you had no idea would make you see the night sky so clearly. A gasp of surprise rips from your throat, lips stuttering against his when the knot that had been building in your stomach for so long disparates into an explosion of pleasure.

Taehyun smiles against you, listening to the way you whine and gasp under him. “Do you feel good?” He murmurs, breath warm against the side of your face. The question isn’t mocking, but you know that it is purely rhetorical. Still, you fervently nod your head, hands pawing at his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to ground yourself. “Yes”, you exhale as you pull him in for another kiss, like you couldn't get enough. “Yes, more, please more.”

You can only moan in exasperated protest when Taehyun does the very opposite of what you’ve asked of him. He pulls away slowly, taking the burn and the heat between your legs with him, making you feel oddly empty. “Why?” You dumbfoundedly ask, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you try your hardest to prevent him from slipping further. Taehyun doesn’t answer right away, instead his lips brush against your tense jaw as he hums.

“Like this”, he finally exhales, forehead resting against yours. Your breath hitches when he grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you just like you had him only moments prior. Your heart races in your chest when he lets you touch him — trusting you enough to let you… He makes the most wonderful noise when your fingers wrap around him, warm and alive in your palm, throbbing with desire for… for you.

“Fuck.” The curse rolls off his lips without intent. Dark brows furrowed together, he bites his bottom lip. “H-ah, keep doing that…” He grunts, hips jerking forward into your waiting hand. Your eyes widen, pulse hammering loud in your ears as you readjust your hesitant grip on him. — “Like this?” You timidly wonder, searching his gaze but finding that he was far too lost to even look your way.

“Uh-huh”, he groans, voice strained as he leans in to press open mouthed kisses along your naked collarbone. After a moment he stills, body going rigid above yours and you feel him twitch in your hand. Something warm, runny and sticky, it clings to your stomach, running down the back of your hand as you hear him moan into the crook of your neck. It’s… “Everything”, you quietly murmur, yet loud enough for Taehyun to lift his head and peer at you through hooded eyes. “What?” He rasps, the frown on his face has yet to ease up, even like this, with his face flushed and covered in sweat — he looked just like himself.

Your fingers run through the mess on your stomach, bringing your shiny and sticky hand to your face. “This”, you hum as you flex your fingers out before you, just barely catching the way Taehyun groans beside you. “It’s everything…” You finally state. Though you weren’t sure exactly what that meant, it still felt right. It felt like everything. This, you and him, the way the guilt had washed away, leaving your bones hollow.

Taehyun’s arm wraps across your waist, his touch warm and grounding in the darkness. “It stopped?” He wonders, thumb brushing against your naked hip. You sigh, chest rising and falling slowly. It did not hurt to breathe, the pain in your heart was not gone — far from it, but tonight it was nowhere to be found, chained somewhere far away where it couldn’t reach you. Turning your head to the side, you find Taehyun’s eyes in the dim light.

“It stopped.”

X

Fuck, Taehyun should have never done that. Dragging a tired hand across his face, he stifles a groan that begs to be freed from his throat. The air is cold, the silent and dark night pressing in close — something that would normally chill him to his bones, yet tonight he’s warm; burning even. There’s a fire staking through his chest, its flames burning big and bright. His entire body simmers with the aftermath of what had taken place in your house, in your room no less. He’d gone too far, crossed a line he should’ve stayed far away from.

But for every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. The way your face scrunched up in pain when he took what no one else had dared claim before. He can still hear the soft and sinful moans that spilled from your lips as he touched you, as he felt you tremble beneath him. Your lips against his, soft hands on his naked chest, gazing up at him with eyes that saw him for something else — like he was worth something, as though he was meant to salvage rather than destroy. His cock throbs at the mere thought of you, a dangerous rush of desire washing over him with each step he takes.

The fire, the desire and the longing, it didn’t make any of this any more right. “Fucking moron”, he spits to no one but himself. His foot kicks at an overflowing trash can, tipping it over as its contents bleed out onto the street. Taehyun had to force himself to leave your bed, and even then he lingered longer than he should have. You had fallen asleep easily, like nothing else mattered, he guessed you had been exhausted from whatever torment your sick father had put you through. His chest twists at the memory of the bruises layering your skin. The hues of purple he’d so carefully traced with the reverent touch of his fingers as you slept. The bruises you had done nothing to deserve. All because of him, he’s realized that now.

Even then, when he knew himself to be the source of your misery, of your pain, had he been unable to tear himself from the comforts of the duvet that smelled like you. Not when you unconsciously clung to him, limp arm falling across his waist as your body curled up against his, something so soft and fragile seeking comfort in a being like him. But Taehyun had stayed, listening to the quiet sounds of your steady breaths. The near permanent frown of worry etched between your brows, nowhere to be seen as you peacefully slept, unaware of the danger that waited for you to come dawn.

Then finally his muscleles obeyed him, forcing him to carefully slide out of bed. Tucking the blanket securely over you, breathing in your scent one last time. He had hesitated, but only for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. Something to remember him by, even when he was gone in the morning. When the world turned darker than the night.

Except, Taehyun did not leave right away. Standing in the middle of your room, he felt like the thief he had been on that first night. His torn and dirty clothes strangely out of place, his ungroomed hair and filthy shoes an intruder in your home. He glances toward the window, the night sky outside beckons him to return, but he doesn’t. Instead he heads for your door, opening it with precision, years worth of practice making him soundless as he slips out into the hallway.

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of your house’s top floor, staying close to the walls, he moves stealthy and sure. There’s a particularly menacing door by the end of the hall, he knows what waits behind it, he can feel it — the evil that seeps through the cracks holding this sinister family together. Once he reaches it he doesn’t hesitate, grabs the doorknob right away, twists it, pushes the door open.

It’s just as dark as the rest of your house, but darkness has never bothered Taehyun and his eyes immediately fall on the bed in the center of the room. There, the root of all damage rests. A blanket thrown over his tall figure, the flimsy fabric slipping just enough to reveal a pointy shoulder and a face buried in a soft pillow. But the sight of your father is unmistakable. Taehyun strays by the doorway just a moment longer, fingers curled so tightly around the door that it practically shook on its hinges. The book, the one he’d torn apart, flashes before his eyes, its crude words igniting a new and different kind of fire within him. “Animal. Undeserving of life. Impure. Sinner.” This man had labelled him as such.

He moves closer, feet silent on the floor as he approaches the sleeping man. Hovering above him, close enough to where he can clearly make out the raspy breaths passing his lips, Taehyun scowls. Pathetic. That is exactly what the old man looks like. So ridiculously full of himself that he doesn’t even realize something far more sinister is standing on his doorstep, watching him slumber. Taehyun’s eyes flicker to the exposed juncture of his neck, such a fragile thing. Reaching a hand out, his fingers pause just above your father’s slightly wrinkled skin.

The prospect of killing another man had never crossed Taehyun’s mind. But as he watches the man sleep, knowing what kind of a monster he was — what he had done to you… He could kill him. If he wanted to. If you wanted him to. Taehyun knows you won’t. You’re too loyal, a blind dog helplessly following its owner. Even after… The scowl on his face deepens, fingers inching closer, he almost thinks he can hear the faint pulse of the sleeping man.

He jerks his hand back suddenly, hand curling into a fist as he takes an abrupt step back. Not tonight, not like this. There’s too much at stake. You. He can’t help but imagine your expression, the way your face would fall when you walked in and realized just what Taehyun had done… Even if it had been for you. With a frustrated groan he turns on his heel, slipping out of the bedroom just as quietly as he had come.

And thus he’s walking down the vacant street. Ignoring the trash can he’d just kicked to the ground as he ventures past the closed stores. His hands are buried deep within his pockets, still trembling with resentment — hatred for a man whose existence he had been unaware of up until a few weeks ago. It shouldn’t bother him, he had seen worse. Children dying of famine, elderly succumbing to the cold out on the streets… This should be nothing. Why does it feel like everything?

Your scent still lingers on his clothes, the floral smell dancing across his nose, making him inhale deeply as his eyes flutter. Taehyun doesn't even realize where he’s walking, his feet carry him on their own accord, guiding him past broken streetlights and alleyways inhabited by rats. It’s not until he reaches a particular window.

Coming to a slow halt, he finally lifts his gaze only to realize that he has been here before. With you. His eyes fall on the stiff and lifeless mannequins. They’re dressed in the same colorful dresses, but his attention is fixed to the one by the center. A bright green dress that flows, even around the unmoving doll, flowers dotting around its entirety, reminding him of life that blooms in spring.

His mind drifts to your conversation on that particular night. “Do you like it?” He had asked, watching as you had practically glued yourself to the window. “I do”, you had replied in breathless awe. Taehyun, unable to understand your fascination for such a flimsy and easily obtainable garment for someone like you, had brushed the matter off once more. But everything is different now and as he regards the dress, something in his chest moves.

“Can you afford it?” You had asked the question timidly, like it might offend him. He had hesitated, how was he supposed to explain that he had nothing but his damaged pride and broken bag to his name. You were too different, there was no way for you to ever understand someone like him. “No.” He remembers finally saying, and after that you had dropped the topic again. But Taehyun still caught your longing glance, the way you had sighed to yourself before you continued walking, as though you were seeing it for the last time.

He stands in front of the display window for a long moment, this time without you by his side. The dress stares back at him, taunting him through the glass. His tongue prods against the inside of his mouth as he weighs his options. But the look in your eyes, forever engraved in his mind, is what wins him over in the end as his hand curls up into a fist.

XI

The birds rise before you do that next morning. You hear their soft chippering, beaks pecking gently against glass. The sound jostles you awake, a sound so familiar — Taehyun. But when you throw a glance toward the window, there’s no one there, only small feathery beings hoping for a few spared crumbs. Disappointment fills you and upon glancing around your bed, you find it just as empty as your chest.

Your body feels weird. Sore. The first thing you note is your legs, their refusal to cooperate properly when you try and swing them over the mattress, hand shooting between your thighs to soothe the ache there as you wince. Memories of last night dance before your eyes when you squeeze them shut. His lips trailing over your chest, your mouth and jaw, the bruises on your wrist. You remember his hand between your legs, your own fingers pressing harder against the dull ache as you recall the way he had touched you.

Inhaling slowly, the scent of him fills your senses. That musky almost earthy scent — like rain in early mornings, grey, cloudy skies and windy nights. He still lingers, even after he’s gone and you cling to the remnants of him. Allowing yourself to fall back down against the sheets you bury your face in the soft pillow. One hand still between your thighs, a small sigh passes your lips when your fingers carefully rub over the place Taehyun had.

You force your eyes shut, willing yourself to remember his face — the way his body had felt against yours, the way he had felt inside you. A gasp, loud enough to fluster you, trembling fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your nightgown. Sin pools in your gut, you can feel it on your hands, warm and slick. It should disgust you, make you want to stop, jerk away and wash yourself clean of all impurity. Instead you want to bask in it. You want to remember Taehyun. The way he had kissed you, touched you — the way he had taken away the pain. If you pretend, then you can feel him, still with you, still touching you; still soothing the agony inside you.

For a long time you don’t move. Time passes in an incoherent manner, you hardly keep track. Everything smells like him, your hand between your legs makes you feel as though he was still there. You know that there is no return now, no salvation, you have taken the final step and allowed yourself to be condemned to sin. Only when the pleasure wears off, when the heat in your stomach bursts and simmers down into nothing — only then do you leave the memory of Taehyun behind in your sheets.

You bathe, drowning yourself in warm water, just the way you had drowned in darkness. Hands sliding over your body, but it doesn’t look the same anymore, or maybe you’re seeing it for the first time? Parts of you that no one had ever before touched, that you had never before dared even think about — the parts that made you lustful, the ones that led you to sin. Your body looks different under the water, you caress it with newfound intrigue.

This is what you look like, this is how you will always look like. You tell yourself the words, gaze trailing over your pointy knees, the bend of your elbow, the dip where your hip meets your thigh, your fingers, spread out before your eyes. For a moment you think about what it would be like to die, if it was as painful as father said. Without thinking twice you lean back. The water swallows you whole, covering your face. Your eyes sting but you keep them open anyway. The surface is so close — close enough for you to just lift your head an inch, then you could breathe again. But you don’t.

You wait, but for what you don’t know. A bubble escapes your lips when you exhale what little air remains in your lungs. You have no idea how much time has passed, but then the pain comes. It starts out a dull ache but quickly grows to something much bigger. Your ribs have gained their own heartbeat, straining and begging wordlessly for reprieve. Your lungs scream for air — muscles tensing under the water as you fight off the urge to save yourself.

Salvation was beyond you. There was no reason for you to lift your head, to breathe the air you had taken for granted. But your body won’t give up. It keeps pleading with you, making your face twist in discomfort as you regard the blurry outlines of the ceiling through the surface. The world beyond does not seem real from here, perhaps it had never been. The water makes you feel small, insignificant. It mocks you, you can feel it, hear the menacing laughter as the waves crash against your ears.

With a shuddering gasp you emerge once more. Hands clutching the sides of the tub, your chest heaving and your mouth agape as you take jagged breaths. If this was death, then your body did not want it. At least not yet. If you had really been damned, if there was really nothing left — your body would have let you die in that tub, but it didn’t. It must mean something.

⸝⸝

Once the water turns cold you get up, wrapping a robe around the body you had spent hours caressing. Your feet are light on the floorboards, avoiding the spots that would creak under your weight as you head for your room. But before you can make it, just as your fingers graze the doorknob, there she is, mother. Her solemn eyes are watching you from down the hall, aged hands clasped together in front of her. She looks as though she might speak, her lips slightly parted in a sentence forever unspoken.

“Mother, I…” You trail off, your words falling short as you glance between her and the door that led to safety. She must be worried, you had not come out to greet her nor father all day. “I’m fine, just feeling a little under the weather… Perhaps a cold.” You pull the robe tighter around yourself to suppress an imaginary shiver. Your mother regards you quietly, her saddened expression unreadable.

“Perhaps…” She finally hums, giving you a small almost unnoticeable nod. For a while everything is still, the two of you unmoving as you gaze into the other’s eye. Mother doesn’t speak again and when she turns on her heel you realize that she has no intention to. You watch as she disappears down the stairs once more, her shoulders stiff and heavy with the years worth of grace she pretends to carry.

When the back of her head is no longer within sight you turn back to the door, twisting the handle as you swing it open. Your bed is still unmade, your room is a mess — impure and dirty. But it is not the tousled sheets or the crooked paintings that your attention falls to, but the window across the room — open and swinging softly in the afternoon breeze. How odd. It would always be sealed shut, suppose you had forgotten last night…

However the open window is not the only anomaly for there is something on the windowsill, something that hadn’t been there when you left for your bath. Covered in old newspapers, wrapped messily and imperfectly, a gift? With caution you near the mysterious item, eyes flickering out through the window as you search for anything, for anyone. But the package had come alone. Hesitantly, your fingers stretch for the wrapped bundle.

The newspapers are rough against your freshly washed hands, they looked old, dated back to weeks ago. Father never let you read those, he would keep them locked away in his office, saying they were dangerous nonsense, lies the non-believers would feed you. And you had believed him. Though as you turn the peculiar item in your hands, you find that the papers surrounding it were of little importance. You begin unwrapping it, carefully tearing the news articles apart to uncover what was beneath.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, the familiar fabric staring back at you like an old friend. As the last piece of newspaper crumbles to the floor, the dress in your hands folds out to reveal itself. Green and flowy, bright flowers blooming across the entirety of the garment like a meadow in spring. Your mouth hangs open, hands trembling as they run across the dress in disbelief.

Quickly you drop to your knees, pushing around the torn newspapers in search of something, anything that would indicate his presence. There, crumpled up and nearly torn in half amongst the paper you had so carelessly ripped apart, is a note. You pick it up, eyes scanning across the messy and nearly unreadable handwriting:

“Thought you said you liked it. Be careful with it, it’s expensive

– T.”

A smile pulls at your lips without you even realizing it. The dress, the one that had captured you completely after one glance. He remembered. Fingers curling around the soft fabric, you bring it to your nose as you inhale. A small part of you thought you could smell him faintly on it — or perhaps you were just telling yourself that. You glance toward your mirror, longing to know what it would look like on you. But before you can rise to your feet, your father’s voice booms through the house. That’s right, dinner with the Choi’s, it was tonight.

You scramble toward your bed, shoving the dress beneath the mattress where you prayed it would remain hidden. It would have to wait, just a little longer.

⸝⸝

The air is different tonight. The Choi’s house is not what it once was. Or perhaps it is just the same. Only you had changed. There’s a darkness lingering around you, a curse attached to your very being. It taints the dining room, clinging to the tapestry walls and coating the silverware in its black, thick tar. The house knows you no longer belong there. You can feel it as it tries to repel you. Its roof is closing in, the windows bending into narrow slits — caging you.

Your father knows too. He and your mother, they sit stiff at the table. Hands kept to themselves, eyes downcast as they ate in silence. No one dares interrupt. No one wants to shed light on the matter so painstakingly obvious. The Choi’s are quiet, despite being your hosts. They, too, must know. You thought you could feel their eyes on you, heavy with disappointment as they regarded your every move.

The food before you is delicious. At least you think it might be. It tastes bland on your tongue, like your body was rejecting it; killing you slowly from the inside out. Still you force yourself to take another bite, then another, washing it down with some water before digging back in. Your throat protests when you swallow, stomach churning in disagreement with every mouthful.

Father had brought you here to torture you. To force you to live through the mistakes you had made, to see the world you were leaving behind. It did not hurt in the way you thought it would. It feels like a slow death, where everyone knows you’re drowning but no one reaches into the water to pull you back up. Because they know. They know you have jumped in by yourself. And a man who wished to drown should not be saved.

After dinner you slink back into the shadows. A place you had learned to appreciate after your time spent with Taehyun. They no longer scare you, and as you creep down the familiar hallway of the Choi’s house, you remain just as silent as the night outside.

Your feet lead you to his room, the one you shouldn’t enter. Because Soobin should not want to see you. Yet you knock, hand curled into a fast as it taps against the wood. You wait anxiously, heart drumming in your chest as you wipe the sweat from your palms. — He opens it moments later, tall figure looming over you. His eyes are the same warm brown they had always been, and you’re reminded of why Soobin had been promised to you in the first place. He was everything you needed, everything you should want. Why does your heart betray you?

“Can I come in?” An absurd request, one he should deny. But Soobin is too good, too selfless. He nods without second thought, stepping aside as he holds the door open for you to enter. With slow and heavy steps you make your way inside, eyes roaming the familiar books stacked along his shelf, his room a near replica of your own — except Soobin doesn’t dream of long beaches, the ocean and the forest. He’s devoted to your father, through and through; just like you should be.

The mattress creaks under your weight when you sit down, the sound awkward in the otherwise silent air. Through the corner of your eye you see his lanky frame, shifting awkwardly by the now closed door. “Sit with me.” You softly request of him, your voice sickly sweet, even to your own ears. To your surprise, he complies, hesitant legs carrying him forward until he’s seated right beside you, arm brushing against yours. For a while you sit there, unmoving, listening to each other’s quiet breaths. He doesn’t attempt to speak first, you don’t expect him to.

You turn to him slowly, eyes finding the side of his face, the soft contour of his cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose and the slow blinking of his soft lashes against flushed cheeks. Soobin reminded you of yourself — a version now long forgotten. What you could have been. Someone pure, someone true. Your fingers curl around the ironed sheets, lips parting as you hesitate to ask the question plaguing your mind.

“Do you like me?”

He freezes, shoulders squaring up like he was preparing to fight something. His once relaxed and soft jaw is now clenched tight, brows pulled together in a small frown. He’s not looking at you, eyes fixed by a spot on the wall before him. You can see him hesitate, the gears turning in his head as he thinks of a proper response. “I do…” He finally says, but it’s as though he’s tasting the words on his tongue for the first time. It was just like how you would reply to your father when he asked a question you did not have the answer to; when you used to pray whatever came out of your mouth was the words he was seeking.

Soobin does not like you. He knows he should. He tells himself that he does. Perhaps he isn’t even realizing that he is lying right now. But you want to believe him, you want to believe that there was at least one thing left for you in this world. Soobin could be your salvation… Maybe, just maybe. You were willing to try.

His face is tense when the tips of your fingers brush against his cheek. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat, the air getting lodged halfway before he emits it in a shaky exhale. Thumb against his chin, you turn his head toward you, slow and deliberate. If you could just believe, if you could just make his lie become the truth, maybe there was hope after all.

Soobin’s eyes widen tenfold when you lean in, lips awkwardly parted when you press your own against them. A noise of surprise leaves him, but he doesn’t attempt to push you off. The kiss is nothing like the ones you had shared with Taehyun. It doesn’t set your soul on fire, doesn’t take away the pain, shame and the guilt. Instead you think it might just intensify it. Frustrated you kiss him harder, tongue slipping inside his mouth as you ignore the way he yelps.

His hands are firm on your arms, gripping onto you awkwardly as he attempts to kiss you back. It feels wrong, forced, but neither of you stop. If you could just recreate that night, if you could just allow yourself to feel what you had felt then… Maybe it would all be okay. You let your eyes fall shut, and instead of Soobin’s lips against your own, you imagine Taehyun’s, thinner, chapped and filled with darkness. The warm hands on your arms become rough and dirty, the ones you are accustomed to. For a moment you manage to lose yourself, to feel a small fire settle across your chest, the flames slowly growing bigger.

You barely even register that your hands have moved down his body, fingers working the buttons of his shirt open one by one. Soobin’s staggering breaths are mere background noise. All you can see is Taehyun, he’s vivid behind your closed eyes, alive and so close. You think you might even hear him, the low drawl of his tongue; “I can’t make it stop.” And he had, for one night he had made it all go away. Now it was all you could think about, the burn that would numb all your pain, the need to feel Soobin even closer, to pretend that it was real.

Once his shirt is fully unbuttoned you don’t pause, you don’t give yourself the time to look at him. It would break the illusion, diminish the flames and put out the fire. You need to burn. So you reach for his pants, trembling hands undoing his belt in a hasty manner as you press messy kisses to his jaw and neck. Soobin’s hands are digging into your arms, so hard it hurts. It’s not until you fumble with his zipper that he finally says something.

“Stop.” The word is gasped out, a breathless plea that settles over you like ice. You freeze, eyes opening to meet his, and suddenly Taehyun fades back into the shadows; like he had never even been here in the first place. Soobin’s chest is heaving, his forehead glazed with sweat and his soft brown eyes uncertain and fearful. “We can’t…” He rasps out, his voice trembling, “We shouldn’t…”

Those exact words, they’re so familiar. The ones Taehyun had given you, the uncertainty behind his usually dark and cunning eyes. But you had pushed him further, you had demanded he took your pain away. And now Soobin… The guilt is back now, stronger than ever, but for all the different reasons. You withdraw your hands from his pants, jerking back on the bed like you might hurt him if you came too close. You probably already had. There was something wrong with you, something dark, sinister. Cursed. But Soobin he wasn’t… He was not Taehyun, nothing like him. Yet you had… You had tainted him with your darkness, just like you had let yourself be tainted.

“I’m sorry…” You stand hastily, fingers curling up into fists by your sides as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Soobin’s watching you, still seated on the mattress, confusion and trepidation painting his face. The darkness within you was consuming you slowly, but it was your darkness, yours to bear. It was not meant for Soobin. No matter how much you want him to be your salvation, he can never undo the mistakes you have made. He should not have to pay the price of your burden.

You stumble backward, hands blindly searching for the door. Leave, you should leave now; leave while there was still hope left for him, before your darkness took him as well. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it firmly. Soobin is still watching you, his face flushed, pants and shirt still halfway undone. The guilt forces your next words from your throat, “Forgive me.”

XII

Taehyun returns, just like he knew he would. He always did. In fact he’s been thinking about you all day, even when he tries not to. It’s almost like a curse, the way you suck up his entirety — clinging to the corners of his mind as you inhabit everything that is him. He wonders if you’ve gotten the dress, if you like it, if you were grateful for it. He glances down at his bloodied knuckle, the torn cloth he’d wrapped around it is stained crimson. It was worth it. It all was. Even now, as he shuffles along the slanted roof leading to your window, the ache in his bent knees is worth it.

He nears the glass, heart drumming in his chest in a way it usually wouldn’t. He should hate it, this foreign feeling. Instead he finds himself leaning into it, following it as though he was pulled along on a leash, legs helplessly carrying him forward. — It’s dark outside, nightfall settled hours ago and Taehyun had waited patiently as he watched the sunset, his thoughts constantly wandering to you. Right now he’s grateful for the darkness as it shields him from view; there’s only one person he wants to be seen by.

The flicker of green is what catches his eyes, something moving on the other side of the glass as he creeps closer. You’re standing in the middle of the room, back turned to him. But all he can see is the dress, the one he’d gotten you. The fabric flows around you, its floral pattern glowing softly under the small light by your desk. He’s imagined you in this dress far more than he’d like to admit, and it looks even better like this…

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s so caught up in the way the garment hugs your body that he doesn’t even realize how oddly still you’re standing. Shoulders tense, like you were bracing yourself for something. Nor does he catch the way your hands clench into fists, trembling ever so slightly by your sides. No, he’s far too lost in your beauty, something he’d grown so fond of in such a short period of time.

His fingers curl as they tap against the window, once, twice. You don’t turn to face him and the look of longing on his face quickly turns to confusion. He regards you a moment longer, wondering why you refused to acknowledge him, there was no way you hadn’t heard him. He knocks again, his impatience quickly seeping through the usually tender movement. It’s then he realizes something is wrong.

His gaze drops, the hatch is left undone — the glass would give way with one push, allowing him inside. Before he can stop himself he reaches out. The air inside is warmer than that of the cold night, it caresses his front the way it always would. Taehyun has one foot on the windowsill when your voice stops him.

“Go away.”

He freezes, a chill running down your spine. You sound different, colder, detached. There was not the same curiosity that would lace your every other word, the slight pitch to the end of your sentences when you spoke passionately. For a moment he sits perfectly still, the sole of his shoe pressing against the windowsill, fingers curled around the ajar window. You had tried to push him away before. This was different. Something had happened, something had changed.

“Please leave. I’m… I’m not decent right now.” Your voice cracks, just slightly, just enough for him to catch. It only makes him want to push further. Normally he would never overstep your boundaries, which was ridiculous given what he did for a living. Suppose things were… compromised when it came to you. Tonight though, tonight he can’t force himself to leave — not even if you screamed for him to.

His feet land against the wooden floor with an almost soundless thud, but you’ve most definitely heard him. Your shoulders draw up even further, hands trembling almost uncontrollably as you refuse to turn to him. “I don’t want to leave”, he says, and it is the truth. Taehyun can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. He takes another step forward, ignoring the way the house groans under his weight when he approaches.

He expects you to flinch away from his touch, maybe even yell at him. But when his hand reaches your stiff shoulder you do nothing. Your skin is cold, nothing like the warm fire it had been on that night. He turns you slowly, filled with both dread and anticipation of what he might find. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight of you. Destroyed. Shattered to pieces, just as broken as the china he’d tipped over on that fateful night, the one that had started everything, ultimately leading to this.

Your skin is dull, cracked. A dried path of blood trickles from your nose, leading all the way to your sealed lips. Your nose looks crooked, in a way that is sure to hurt. Worst of all were the colors spilled across your neck, yellow, blue, purple — the fingerprints of someone else, of someone’s violent touch still alive on your body. Your lifeless eyes stare back at his, not afraid, not angered, just… defeated, like you had already given up.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Taehyun knows exactly who did this, he knows exactly who is to blame. The thought of that man, the man you call father, makes his blood boil. He should have killed him that night, ended him when there was still a chance left — when he had yet to…

“I’m sorry.” You choke the words out on a half hearted sob, your body quivering as you heave a breath. Taehyun frowns, what for? He opens his mouth to speak but the question becomes lodged in his throat when you gesture toward the floral dress. Blood stains the once bright fabric, soaked into the flowers and tarnishing something so pure with evil. “I… I wanted to look pretty for you but I–” You shake your head, silent tears rolling down your cheeks as you avoid his gaze.

A new emotion surges within his chest, one he had never felt before. It scares him, the way his jaw clenches without his consent, eyes flaring with a rage he did not recognize. Yet his hands are surprisingly tender against your naked arms. The wrath within him is not meant for you, he recognizes that. And so he touches you tenderly, like you might break under as much as a puff of air. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between your bodies, until he can feel each jagged breath you take.

“You’re beautiful, always.” He whispers, lips brushing against your forehead. He doesn’t know if he sounds believable, but it’s the truth. Never in his life has he meant something more. But his words can’t undo the damage your father has caused, he knows that. You continue to cry, even when he promises to keep you safe. How could he ever keep evil at bay if it existed within every fiber of you? Your father had sunk his claws deep in you, rooted firmly. He would only withdraw them when he was dead. Taehyun knows that.

“I’ll make it stop.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air, it’s what finally makes you look at him. Your eyes are glassy, filled with unshed tears. “How?” You shake your head, already giving up, “No one can.”

He feels you anchor yourself to him, fingers curling around the fabric of his torn shirt — clinging on to something so dirty like it was all that mattered. Taehyun has never mattered before, not to anyone, not even himself. But you’re different. You give him purpose. He knows what he needs to do. “Do you trust me?” He asks, palm resting against your wet cheek, silently begging for you to say ‘yes’.

Moments pass, moments of painful silence that are filled only by the rapid beating of his heart. Then you nod, so subtle that he almost misses it. You blink once, emitting a shaky exhale as your hold on his clothes loosen a fragment. — “Stay here.” It’s not a request, he doesn’t bother masking the intent behind his next move, and you don’t bother asking. Silently you let go of him, hands falling to your sides as you’re left alone once more.

He hesitates but only for a second, his hands cradle your face gently — his touch ghost like. Pressing his lips to your forehead he tries to savor the feeling of your body against his. “I’ll come back for you.” It’s the last thing he says before pulling back, withdrawing back into the shadows as he heads for your door.

The hallway just outside your room is dimly lit — an eternal corridor leading down somewhere dark. Led by a carpet laid out onto the floor, Taehyun follows it as he descends down its path. His steps are heavy on the wooden boards, each thud like thunder against the sky. He doesn’t care who hears him, he wants to be seen; needs to be heard. He’d lingered in the dark long enough, he’d let things play out just the way your father had intended for them to. No more.

A single door is left ajar, a thin streak of warm candle light spills out onto the opposite wall. It beckons him closer, and Taehyun obliges. The light doesn’t scare him. He knows what’s waiting for him on the other side, something sinister and evil, the root of everything damned in this house. He burns with rage, burns with desire to uncover and destroy it. Taehyun doesn’t knock, he doesn’t have to, the door is opened for him. His hand pushes it aside, and he takes the step over the threshold.

He finds himself in a study, a small and peculiar room. It’s different from the rest of the house, forbidden, he can tell. Three out of the four walls are home to bookshelves, each one crowded with literature as the books fight for space — he recognizes some titles, he’d seen them in libraries whenever he took shelter from the rain. There’s piles of newspapers that clog the table in the center of the room, spilled ink and a candle burning slowly on the mahogany wood. This place is chaos, a reflection of the man behind it all; his mask was slowly slipping.

Slumped against an armchair on the opposite side of the table, elbow propped on the wooden desk, is your father. He looks like shit. The weight is gone from his face, his cheeks hollow and sunken in — as though he’d aged a decade since Taehyun had last seen him, before he knew anything; when he thought that this man was nothing but a simple widower. Now he knows the sinister truth behind the seemingly frail man before him, what lingers behind his cold and sharp gaze. That is the only thing that has yet to change. The icy glare of his soulless eyes.

With a begrudging sigh, one that comes from deep in his chest, your father lifts his gaze. His glasses have slid down his nose a considerable amount, yet he doesn’t bother to push them back up. He drags his eyes across Taehyun’s figure by the door, slow, lazy. He doesn’t look in the least surprised to see him, not threatened, not even angry. In fact it looks almost like he was seeing an old friend, perhaps he even felt inclined to make a remark on his tardiness. There was something seriously wrong with this man.

“I’ve been expecting you”, your father finally speaks, his voice a low but powerful drawl, “I knew you would come.” He leans forward in his chair, the furniture creaking under his movements. Then he picks the glasses from his nose, neatly putting them down on the messy table before him with methodical and practiced ease; like he had all the time in the world.

For every passing second Taehyun’s confusion mounts. He should be lunging at this man — shove his fist against his already crooked nose, break his jaw, leave him bloodied and bruised; just like he had you. Instead he finds himself rooted in place, unable to move as much as a finger. He swallows thickly when your father makes another request, his voice far too calm, too collected for the situation at hand: “Close the door behind you. Come sit with me.”

He doesn’t know why he obliges, why his hand almost instantly reaches for the doorhandle as he brings it shut. The click that follows rings out in the office, sealing the moment between the two of them. He hesitates, but only for a second, then he steps forward on wary feet as he approaches the chair opposite your father. With only a desk separating them, Taehyun sinks down on the soft cushion. His dirty clothes are contrasting against the clean velvet, but he doesn’t care — and neither does your father.

“Tea?” He asks, but he’s already placing a cup before him, pouring hot water with trembling hands. Taehyun blinks once, wondering where the pot had even come from. But your father doesn’t give him time to ponder as he stirs the tea with a spoon, once, twice, three times before tapping the cup’s rim. Taehyun eyes the beverage suspiciously, half expecting it to be poison. Then he catches your father pouring his own cup from the same pot, and he relaxes, fingers flexing against the armrests of his chair.

Taehyun thinks he looks small like this. Your father. His tall frame is to little avail when he’s sat, his lean arms do not appear strong enough to take anyone down, especially not him. He’s old, driven to the brink of madness — wrapped in a web of his own lies. He would stand no match to Taehyun. But as your father brings the cup of tea to his lips, silently fighting off the tremors in his hands, Taehyun finds himself unable to look away.

“I know what you are”, he finally rasps upon setting the cup down. Despite his physique weighing him down, the cold chill of his sharp glare remains. It pierces Taehyun in one go, its intensity making his muscles tense and he fights down the shudder that creeps along his spine. He holds his ground, jaw clenching as your father addresses him with a condescending sneer, like he thought he was somehow better, cleaner.

He continues in that same, low, drawl-like but demanding voice. “Your kind, I know what you do to people — I know what becomes of those around you.” Then he suddenly leans forward, the movement so sudden that Taehyun is taken aback. The chair squeaks, announcing its unease and filling the momentary silence until he speaks again, “You’ve ruined my daughter.”

The statement feels like a gun has been shoved to his throat and Taehyun’s fingers clench around the armrests. “How do you know?” He asks, his voice betraying underlying intrigue wrapped in a delicate layer of burning rage. Your father sighs, like he’d expected the question — perhaps the conversation even bored him to some extent. His hands curl against the wooden table, eyes flickering to the flaming candlelight, its yellow glow painting the side of his bitter face. “Filth like you cannot keep its hands away from something as pure as my daughter”, he pauses, hand trembling slightly on top of the table, “You become infatuated, you think you owe her something, that she needs your sin.”

His fist slams against the desk, the sound loud and brute in the small office and Taehyun nearly flinches in his seat. Your father heaves a ragged breath, eyes burning with barely concealed fury. “You are killing her.” He spits the words out like they had personally offended him, lips twisting into a scowl as he allows himself to slump back in his chair. His gaze slowly shifts to a point Taehyun can’t see. “Your filth has sunk its claws so deep in her that…” He trails off, eyes moving subconsciously, like he was seeing something Taehyun couldn’t. “And then what becomes of her?” He huffs, the sound coming out almost a laugh. “An animal”, his dark eyes flicker over to Taehyun, “Someone like you.”

Taehyun bites his tongue, jaw clenching as he swallows down the words on his lips. He’s at war with himself. He peers down into the teacup before him, watching as the liquid swirls around in the porcelain. Your father was wrong. He was nothing but a sadist wrapped so deep in his own lies that they were now his only truth — he’d started worshipping them, believing them to be a call from above. “You’re a liar”, Taehyun spits, fingers clawing at the chair when he suddenly leans forward. There’s a flash of surprise that strikes your father’s features, the way he pauses for just a moment, brows furrowing on his forehead.

“Your daughter was dead before I even laid my hands on her.” He’s shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead as the words claw themselves from his throat. “You’ve killed her – slowly”, a sly, almost sinister smirk tugs its way across his lips; his next sentence bordering on a crazed laugh: “Can’t you see? You’re all dead. But her? You killed her before she even had a chance to live.”

“Lies”, your father seethes, his face contorted in rage. It’s not enough to make Taehyun back down, not now, not when he had him so close — right where he wanted him, on the brink of snapping, just the way he knew he could. Your father raises his voice, hatred spilling from him in forceful waves. “You’re a liar! An animal!”

That word. That demeaning and belittling phrase. It’s what makes him snap. The sound of his chair tumbling backward fills the room as Taehyun jumps to his feet. Not even a second later he’s lunging himself across the table, just barely avoiding the teacups as he aims for your father. His chest is heaving, but not from exertion. His hands find your father’s neck, curling around him like a vice as he drinks in the gasp the old man emits. “Should’ve thought about that before letting me in your house then, huh?” Fingers digging into his neck, Taehyun can feel his racing pulse beneath his palm. “An animal like me, you shouldn’t let them get so close — shouldn’t talk to them like that…” He says in mock sympathy, brows pulling into a small frown as he squeezes around his neck with all his might.

What Taehyun doesn’t expect is the sharp and sudden pain that flares up in his side. It’s sharp, digging through the torn and dirty layers of clothes he wears and piercing his skin. It pulls a sharp hiss from his throat, his grip momentarily faltering on your father’s neck as he glances down. There, buried in the side of his stomach, was a knife. That son of a bitch was armed. — “You’re going to regret that”, he snarls but your father is quicker. He twists the knife, making Taehyun go nearly cross eyed as he releases his grip completely.

He stumbles backward on shaky legs, back hitting one of the shelves as books pour out in the commotion. His side throbs, the pain pulsating throughout his entire body. Taehyun grips onto the bookshelf, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to gather his bearings. He should’ve seen that coming. He should’ve… The small ‘tsk’ your father emits pulls his attention toward the old man.

Still sitting by his desk, your father leans back in his chair. One hand rubs at his neck gingerly whilst the other one brings his unfinished cup of tea to his lips. His nonchalance is what gets to Taehyun. How could he just sit there, how could he… With an infuriated groan, he pulls the knife from his side — biting through the pain that flares as he instead redirects his full attention to the man you had warned him about since the beginning.

His feet move before he can stop them, limping across the floor as he aims for the old man so casually sipping his tea. He raises his fast, knife gripped tightly in his hand. Taehyun just manages to catch the glimpse of his face, the brief widening of his eyes, cup still raised to his lips. He strikes hard, arm straining as he slides the knife through his chest, free hand braced on the man’s shoulder as he pushes him back in his chair.

He makes a gargled noise in the back of his throat, blood rising rapidly as he chokes on it. The teacup has slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor — porcelain scattered everywhere. Taehyun doesn’t hesitate, twisting the knife as far as he can, he burrows it even deeper. Your father moans out in pain, the fury on his face gradually replaced by dread as death creeps into his every fiber. But the look in his eyes, that icy and indifferent stare, it remains.

Taehyun wants to look away, his mind is screaming for him to let go and back up. But he can’t. He needs to see this through, all the way to the end. Instead he leans in closer, nose almost brushing against the old man’s, hot breath mixing with his dying one. “You were right”, he huffs, still holding onto the knife with a white-knuckled grip. Your father groans, his lips moving to no avail, the words never make it out. But Taehyun imagines he wants to protest, tell him how he reeks of filth, how much of an animal he is.

He laughs, the sound sinister to his own ears but it doesn’t matter. Giving the knife one final push, he watches with gleam in his eyes as your father’s body convulses. “You were right…” He sighs, “I’m the animal you want me to be.”

The flicker of fury on his face, despite life draining from him by the second — it’s satisfactory. Taehyun finds himself watching just a moment longer, and when the last bit of life finally slips from his cold and soulless eyes, that’s when he knows his purpose has been fulfilled. He huffs once, shaking his head. That had been too easy, far too easy. Everything a single man stood for, brought down by something as simple as a knife — raised by a hand such as Taehyun’s… He doesn't have time to ponder it.

With a stifled groan he jerks back, leaving the knife in your father’s chest, its final resting place, he muses to himself. Then he takes a step back, intent on finding his way back to you. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain himself, what he could possibly say to make it all okay. It doesn’t matter. In his haste he bumps into the table, the one he’d been watching your father across for what felt like forever. The force of his hip meeting the wood however, causes the burning candle to topple over. Taehyun reaches for it, but it’s already too late.

The flames reach the scattered news articles, then the spilled ink — then it’s alive. It’s warm, incredibly so, and Taehyun squints against the orange glow, arm coming up to shield him from the embers as he tumbles backward. Everything within this office was made out of paper or wood, the ink only acting as fuel to a fire that had been waiting to happen.

With wide and horrified eyes Taehyun watches as the flames swallow your father, the way they crawl along his limp body, eating away at his skin rapidly. Soon there would be nothing left of him, nothing to bury, nothing to remember. — Then, as if he had just woken up from a year long dream, he flinches. You. You were still here, still in your room, waiting for him to come back; just like he’d promised.

Taehyun bursts through the door, coughing as the smoke curls around him. The fire chases him down the hall, eating away at his heels. He picks up his pace, running as fast as his limping body would allow him. The gash on his side still throbs, blood oozing out with each breath he takes. Just a little longer, a little further, then he would have you in his arms. Your door is right there, he can see it — it fuels him with the strength he needs to push through the last bit.

He barges into your room, your gasp of surprise ringing like clockwork in his ears. He blinks once, then twice, coughing the smoke that somehow had managed to sneak its way to his face. Then he feels your hands, so soft, too soft, and they’re everywhere — “Are you hurt? What did you do? I heard yelling–”

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements when you reach for his cheek. “We have to go”, he groans, grimacing at how weak he sounded. The wound on his side was not going to ease up, the longer he spent here the worse it would get, the closer the fire would come. It’s only then, when the dark and cloudy smoke sippers through the cracks of your door that you react. “Oh my god…”

Taehyun sighs, any other day he would’ve made a remark of some kind. Not tonight. His eyes fall on the window, still ajar — the one he’d entered and fled from so many times. This would be the last. He pulls you toward it, ignoring the way his side screamed in protest at his every move. You struggle behind him, “Wait– My mother!”

He shakes his head, “There’s no time.” If he had to guess, the smoke had gotten to her already. But he couldn’t break those news to you, not now, not here. You reach the window, and Taehyun uses what little strength he has left to haul you up on the windowsill. Finally seeming to catch on, you’re quick to crawl out onto the slanted roof, stopping only when you realize that he isn’t following you. “What are you doing?” You shriek, and Taehyun can feel your gaze on him as he braces himself against the window frame.

Your hands are trembling, fingers digging into his shirt and he almost wants to give a chuckle at your attempt to pull him along. “Why are you just standing there, come on!” You’re yelling now, your voice louder than he’s ever heard it before. He wants to protest, tell you that he can’t, that the pain in his side would just make him double over before he got another step in. But then he remembers the godforsaken drop down the roof. You wouldn’t be able to make it on your own.

He groans, in both pain and frustration and a moment later he’s hauling himself onto the windowsill. The flames have entered your room by now, swallowing everything you held dear in big hungry mouthfuls. He just barely manages to pull his feet out before the embers catch him. And he’s given no time to rest as you begin fervently tugging him along. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” He can clearly make out the panic in your voice, the one you’re not even bothering to hide.

Taehyun lets you pull him along the roof, stumbling and limping awkwardly as he clutches his side. His vision was already beginning to lessen, how much blood had he lost? He shakes his head, a futile attempt at keeping himself on his feet. Your voice keeps floating in and out, he can see you, but not clearly. Then finally, you reach the rooftops ledge.

You hesitate, just like he knew you would. Despite the fire roaring behind you, the house’s top floor is engulfed in flames — you still sway on your feet, biting your bottom lip as you eye the drop. “Come here”, his voice is strained, he hopes you won’t notice. He holds his arm out for you to take, and when you do he pulls you to his chest.

You’re in his arms again, at last — it feels better than he likes to admit, scary almost. But you fit so perfectly here. “What are you doing?” Your voice is a frightened, high pitched murmur. Your breath sharp and jagged against his chest. “Trust me”, he says, just like he had on that night, the night that now felt so long ago.

He feels you cling on to him tighter, fingers digging into his clothes. Taehyun knows he won’t make the fall, it doesn’t matter. You trust him, he’s going to save you — that means something. It means everything. He buries his face against your shoulder, inhaling your scent one last time, his chest swelling with a feeling he can’t place.

Then he lets himself go boneless, and you fall.

XIII

The dress is slightly wrinkled as you pull it from beneath your mattress. It doesn’t matter, it’s just as pretty in your eyes. The pads of your fingers caress it softly, running along the smooth fabric with reverent touch. A smile tugs at your lips, the memory of Taehyun fresh in your mind — his dark and wild eyes, the hot caress of his hand on top of your own. — You strip before your mirror, and for once, you do not hesitate to let your eyes linger on the parts of your body you would always hide.

The green dress slides on with ease, settling perfectly over your frame, the fabric flowing past your knees when you give a small twirl. With a quiet hum your gaze trails along the multiple flowers that adorn the garment. If you listened hard enough you thought you could hear the quiet chirping of birds in the morning sun, even smell the freshly cut grass. But most importantly you see Taehyun, you imagine him lying next to you on an open field, his face stripped from all pain, yours too.

But the serene moment is quickly disrupted. You hear his footsteps before your mind even registers what’s going on. They’re barging up the stairs, aiming for you. Father. But why? He would always keep out of your room unless necessary— The pounding to your door jolts you from your position by the mirror, fear settling over your features.

“A minute please–” But it’s to no avail, he’s already swung your door open. His chest is heaving, his usually put together frame uncharacteristically disheveled. Worst are his eyes, dark with rage as they zero in on you as you stand, clad in something he had since long forbidden you ever wear. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” He barks, taking an invading step inside your room. The floor creaks and groans under his weight but father pays it no mind.

“I… Father, I don't know what you’re talking about…” You hold your hands out in surrender, stumbling backward on uncertain feet as you avoid his imposing presence. But he only scoffs, a sound so disappointed it makes your heart twist. “I knew you were ruined, filthy even — but I never thought”, he takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tries and fails to compose himself. “Never did I think you would spread your evil — to that boy no less?”

You can’t help it, the way your brows draw together in a frown. What was he talking about? “Father I don’t–”

Whack!

It’s harder this time, harder than he’s ever punished you before. The strike across your nose stings, your vision fading for a moment before it comes back. With a shaky hand you reach up to touch where the throb lingers, horrified you find blood smeared across your fingers once you pull them back. But father shows no sign of remorse, no sign of stopping.

“You think I’m going to sit back and let you poison all of our community?” He grabs your shoulders, jerking you back and forth like you weighed nothing in his grasp. “You filthy animal!” He snarls, hand coming up to strike you across your face once more. It hurts, but not nearly as much as his words do, and you can’t keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks.

“And this…” His voice drops an octave, suddenly taking on a much graver form. You shudder when his fingers brush against the dress you wore, tugging on the fabric slightly. “The clothes of a sinner — is that what you are?” He practically roars, hands balling into fists as he tries to tear your dress apart.

You’re sobbing now, choked gasps escaping your lips as you vehemently shake your head. “Father please don’t! It— It’s a gift!” It doesn’t matter how much you beg, how much you cry, it would never change his mind. It would never undo the damage you’d caused. “That’s even worse isn’t it?” Your father says, his fingers curling around your neck with a force that terrified you, he’d never done something like that before, ever. “You look like a prostitute”, he spits, hands squeezing around your throat as he cuts off your air supply.

The scream never makes it past your lips. Trashing and kicking, your nails claw at his hands in an attempt to break free, it’s no use — he would never let you off. This was not like the death you had experienced in the bath tub, nothing like the stillness of the water as it surrounded, this was a muted scream — agonizing and raw.

For a moment you think he might actually kill you. Father had always terrified you, for as long as you could remember, but never had you considered that he might… This was not how you wanted to die, this was not how you were going to pay for your sins. Could father not see that? Or did he deem your time to be up?

It’s then, when you think you might just succumb to the darkness any moment, that he finally lets go. You fall to the floor, hands clawing at your throat as you gasp and scream for air. Father remains quiet, unmoving as he stands before you. Once you’ve finally caught your breath you glance up, meeting his dark and piercing gaze with wide and frightened eyes. He doesn’t speak, but you know what he’s thinking.

Filthy, dirty, undeserving of life, animal.

His shoe meets your stomach in one forceful kick, sending your back against the floor with a loud thud. Then, without waiting for you to get up — without even listening to a word you might have to say, he turns and walks out again. The door is slammed shut behind him, causing the paintings to rattle on your wall.

The tears are still rolling down your cheeks, hot and warm — never ending. You peer down at your dress, blinking to see through your own crying. It’s stained red, your own blood having spilt on the once beautiful fabric. It only makes you cry harder as you wrap your arms around yourself, rocking back and forth slowly.

⸝⸝

After a while the pain in your body subsides and you finally rise from the floor. But just as your feet had found their footing, you realized there was nothing for you to do. You turn to the left, then the right, then back toward your door. And then you stand, unmoving, almost unblinking. Time passes slowly but you’re not keeping track anymore, you’re merely; existing.

It is therefore impossible to tell how long had passed when you hear a familiar tap to your window. It’s light, quick and sharp — the way Taehyun would always knock. It sends a jolt of something down your spine, fear? Dread? You don’t know. All you know is he needs to leave. He cannot see you like this, it would destroy you. But Taehyun is persistent, as he had always been. He taps the window again. You wonder how long it will take for him to realize that you had left it unhatched, open for him and him alone.

Another pause. Then you hear its soft creak as the window is pushed aside. “Go away”, you can barely get the words out, your tongue feels lazy and uncooperative. But you feel him pause, hesitation radiating off of him. You can tell he’s not budging and you try again, this time a little louder. “Please leave. I’m…” A mess? Ugly? Not who I want you to see me as? “I’m not decent right now.” Is what you settle for.

He doesn’t reply, not outwardly at least. You can barely hear him as he lands on the floor, silent as night — the way he had been when he’d first snuck inside your home all those weeks ago. Of course he wouldn’t listen… Still, you had been the one to leave the window unlocked. Though you don’t turn to face him, you can’t, can’t face him like this. Your hands are trembling by your sides, you try to calm them down but it’s no use.

“I don’t want to leave”, his voice comes from somewhere behind you, closer than you would want it. The house groans in protest when he takes a step closer and your shoulder nearly jerks when his hand finds it. But you remain still, just as still as you can, breathing slowly through your nose. You don’t resist him when he gently grabs hold of you, turning you to face him.

The second you meet his eyes you want to hide. Your face is broken, ruined. You don’t want him to see this version of you, the ugly and shattered one, the one you had tried so hard to conceal. “I’m sorry”, you choke on a sob. An apology, it was all you could give him — your eternal remorse and guilt for what you had allowed yourself to become. Your body quivers as you heave a breath, fresh tears brimming at your already bloodshot eyes. “I… I wanted to look pretty for you but I—” You can’t finish your sentence, the shame is too much to bear, you avoid his gaze as the tears continue to spill down your cheeks in silence.

Taehyun remained quiet for a moment, the only indication of his presence was the slow breath he took and his rough hands against your arms. Then he pulls you, closer than anyone would ever get. His lips brush against your forehead. “You’re beautiful, always.” He whispers, the words make the hairs on the back of your neck stand, a shudder rippling through your body as another sob wracks through you.

“I’ll make it stop.”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he could just take away the sin and the pain. Finally you lift your gaze to meet his, seeing him through bleary eyes, “How?” you shake your head, “No one can.” Then you cling to him, harder than you ever had, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, he was the only thing that could give you some semblance of truth, of belonging.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice low and serious. Trust. You had trusted Taehyun since the night you had let him lead you out of your window, when you had jumped and he’d caught you. You trusted him. His hand is warm against your wet cheek and you lean into the soft touch. A small, almost unnoticeable nod, it’s all you can muster. Then you exhale, letting out the air that had been building in your chest as you let go of his shirt.

“Stay here — I’ll come back for you.”

You trust that he will.

⸝⸝

The wait seems to go on forever. You pace your room back and forth, feet padding barefoot on the floors. Anxiously you gnaw at your nails, throwing impatient glances toward the clock. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen… What was taking him so long? What was he doing… You had a feeling you already knew, deep down in your chest. Your father’s face appears when you close your eyes, the same look of rage burning within his eyes.

After what feels like an eternity you hear it, yelling, coming from somewhere in the distance. You can’t make out the words, their voices are muffled, but it scares you. You think about your mother, probably hiding in her bedroom right now — just like you were. The shouting stops just as quickly as it had come, an eerie silence settling over the house.

Half an hour has passed when you finally pick up on the footsteps that are near your door. Your heart pounds in your chest, fearful of who might burst through your door. If your father came here… You would die. He would kill you.

But it is not your father that reveals himself on the other side. You almost want to cry at the sight of him. Without thinking you rush forward, hands reaching for his face in an instant. “Are you hurt? What did you do? I heard yelling—” You pause when you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, his grip trembling.

“We have to go”, he croaks out, the words followed by a strained grimace. Confusion and fear settles in the pits of your stomach. What did he mean by that? But before you can ask the question you smell it. The foul and thick scent of something burning. There, sippering through the cracks of your door is black and heavy smoke — its claws reaching for you.

Your mouth falls open, “Oh my god…” The flames come second, hot and alive as they eat away at your sealed door. Taehyun’s sigh pierces the air, his gaze fixed on something behind you. Then he’s pulling you along, moving toward the window with urgency. Instinctively you follow him, until the thought of your mother crosses your mind once more. “Wait– My Mother!” But Taehyun only shakes his head.

“There’s no time.”

The realization sinks in deep, and as you throw one last glance over your shoulder you can see the flames, having eaten their way through the door, attacking your walls next. The paintings you had so carefully hung up, the ones of the beach, the long dwindling rivers and the grand forests… They were all rapidly crumbling into nothing right before your very eyes.

You don’t even register what’s happening, not until Taehyun’s hands grip your hips and you’re hoisted from the ground. The windowsill is cold against your thighs, but you move quickly — crawling out on the rooftop as you try to escape the burning embers. Time was slipping through your fingers and if you didn’t move soon— Wait, where’s Taehyun? You pause, turning around only to see him still inside, hands braced against the window and his head bowed.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a panicked shriek. There was no time for stalling, why was he not following you? When he makes no attempt at moving your fear rises. “Why are you just standing there, come on!” You don’t care for the yelling, your screams were barely overpowering the loud roar of the fire. Reaching out, your hands yank at his clothes, trying and failing to pull him through the window.

Finally, as though a switch had been flipped inside of him, he relents, pushing himself up and through the window as the flames brush against the sole of his shoes. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” You desperately plead as you yank him to his feet, already hurrying along the roof. Taehyun stumbles behind you, nearly tripping over his own feet and you fear he might just fall. But then you see it, the familiar edge, the one that would take you away from here.

As you reach the ledge you stop, feet planting against the roof, heart thundering in your chest as you peer down to the grass below. The drop wasn’t too far, you’d done it once before — you could do it again… You had to… Taehyun’s voice carries out like a wave against shore, crashing against you in a strained murmur. “Come here”, his arm is reaching for you and the second you reach for it he pulls you to his chest.

He feels warm, safe. “What are you doing?” You quietly ask, unable to hide the frightened edge to your question. You should be jumping by now, fleeing the fire that had swallowed the entire top floor of your house. But Taehyun’s arms only wrap tighter around you, like he was afraid to let go. “Trust me”, he says, and this time you don’t have to doubt him at all. You trust Taehyun with your life.

His face is buried against your shoulder, and you cling to him even tighter. Then the roof suddenly disappears from beneath your feet, and you fall.

It doesn’t hurt. Not in the way you thought it would. Maybe it’s because you’re not on the ground, not yet. Taehyun’s chest is warm under you, moving slowly with each breath he takes. You don’t open your eyes — you don’t dare to. Behind you the house screams in agony, the hot fire eating away at it rapidly. The warm flames can be felt even here, the bright lights pushing against your closed eyelids.

But you were outside, free. Slowly you lift your head, it throbs but only for a moment. Then you turn to glance over your shoulder. Each window has smoke spilling from it, reaching high up in the sky, begging to be released. The flames are violent — but not evil. You watch as they break down the cage you had lived in all your life, piece by piece. Soon there would be nothing left, nothing but ashes to remind you of what had once been, of what you had once been.

And you feel… relieved. You exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. This house… The thing you had thought to be the most sacred place in the world. It was all coming to an end, and you would be set free, at last. “You did it”, you sigh, hands curling a little tighter around Taehyun’s shirt as you watch the flames a moment longer, eyes lingering on the embers that sparked around the burning wood.

“You made it stop.”

Silence.

You turn back to Taehyun, brows pulled into a frown. The warm glow of the fire caresses the side of his face, and you find him already looking at you with those dark eyes; the way he always would. “Taehyun?” Your smile has yet to waver, the feeling blooming in your chest still beats strong.

His lips part, a ragged breath escaping them as he answers. “Yeah.” His voice is strained and the short response is followed by a pained grimace. You blink, the smile falling from your lips as you stare at him, eyes trailing over his pale face and the way his chest moves in uneven and jagged breaths. “What’s wrong?” You sound almost accusing, but you can’t help it.

He shakes his head, wincing as one of his hands shoots out to press against his side. You sit up then, eyes following his trembling hand to a dark spot on his shirt. Blood. “What?” Your voice wavers as you place your hand on top of his, “What is this?” What a stupid question of course you knew what it was, part of you just doesn’t want to believe it.

Taehyun doesn’t reply, just stares up at you with those same, annoyingly perfect eyes. The same ones you had told yourself were filled with sin, tainted with darkness. But you had been wrong all along. Taehyun wasn’t evil, he wasn’t dirty or impure. He was light. The only light you had ever known. And all this time you had thought he had been the very opposite…

“It’s okay…” Your voice cracks, you know it’s not. Still, your hands reach for his, lacing your fingers together to make one. “It’s okay — you’ll be okay”, you nod to yourself. “Does it hurt terribly?” You ask, looking for something, anything to stop the bleeding with. — “I’m fine.” He says, wincing slightly when you put too much pressure on the gash, “Been through worse.” You can tell he’s trying to brush it off, act stronger than he is.

“It’s okay — just keep still, I’ll fix this”, you murmur, fingers reaching for the hem of your dress as you prepare to rip a piece off. Taehyun stops you, his grip on your wrist is weak, hand shaking as he halts your movements. “Don’t”, he croaks, eyes silently pleading with you, “It’s beautiful on you… Don’t want you to ruin it.”

A frustrated whine slips from your lips, “How could you say something like that right now?” The once green and vibrant dress is ruined, stained with both blood and dirt. How could he possibly find someone so grimy… beautiful? — You hadn’t even noticed the tears spilling down your cheeks, not until Taehyun lifts a trembling hand, fingers carefully swiping away the salty essence of every single emotion you were feeling right now.

“Come, lay with me.” The request is so softly spoken, it almost sounds nothing like him. But if you lay down now, if you stop, if you give up… You shake your head, stubbornly pressing your hands against the bleeding wound on his stomach. “No… No, I’m going to make it better. I’m going to fix it. Just… Just…” Your words fall short, tears still sliding down your face and landing on his heaving chest.

Taehyun’s hand is warm against your arm, despite the tremors running through him he’s still touching you like you were the most fragile piece of china in the world. “Please”, he says, tugging you closer with little strength, “I want you in my arms, one last time.”

You let yourself be pulled back onto his chest, cheek resting against the beating of his heart. You listen to it, letting your eyes fall shut as your fingers curl in the loose fabric of his shirt. “We’re just resting…” You murmur, shuddering when his arms wrap around you, “Just resting… Then we’re going to make you better. Save your strength.”

Somewhere above you Taehyun hums, he doesn't protest, but he doesn't agree either. It didn’t matter. You were going to make it alright. You were going to save him, just like he had saved you. — For a while everything is silent, the house is still burning behind you, the flames dancing across the place you had once called home. The night is cold but Taehyun is warm against you, so is the heat of the fire, smoldering your joint bodies.

Beneath you, Taehyun takes a deep, shaky breath. You can clearly hear the effort it takes for him to even do that. It makes your heart hurt. Then he speaks, his voice low and strained. “Do you remember… the night we met?” The question catches you off guard, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. “Of course I do.”

How could you ever forget? His dark silhouette in your living room, his alarmed expression when you’d caught him in the act. The vase he’d so clumsily broken, the bag he’d left behind. You had replayed your first encounter many times in your mind, mulling over his words, the look in his dark eyes — the same dark eyes you would grow so accustomed to over time.

“I think about it a lot”, Taehyun murmurs, his fingers moving absentmindedly along your arms.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for a minute, like he was basking in the moment just a second longer. Another deep breath, you feel his chest rise and fall under you. “You haven’t left my mind since that night.” He admits, the words so quiet in comparison to the roaring fire. The admission makes your head lift as you peer at his face. He’s looking up, eyes tracing the stars in the sky when he speaks, “It was annoying at first… Not being able to get you out of my head”, he muses, a small grin tugging against his chapped lips. His arms tighten around you, his voice strained as he continues. “Got used to it after a while”, his eyes flicker to meet yours, “Now I never want you to leave.”

Your heart beats faster at that, fresh tears threatening to spill as you hastily blink them away. “That’s so silly”, you murmur, a half-hearted smile tugging at your lips when you let your head fall back against his chest.

“Is it?”

“No… It’s actually kind of sweet.”

Another silence stretches over the two of you. The fire burns hot and alive, the entire top floor of your house has collapsed in on itself. There had been no screams, no agony — just silent relief, freedom. You glance toward the sky, the night is still, stars twinkling above you, they seem closer now, perhaps they were reaching for you, or you them.

You wonder what life would be like now — without your father. Taehyun had not said a word about him. But you knew he was dead. You could feel it in the way the wind moved, how the grass seemed to reach just a little higher, growing a little wilder. Something had been lifted, or perhaps pulled down and buried. Either way it was gone. He was gone. — Mother was gone too. That was different. A quiet sorrow, the one that lingers in endless rivers and calm oceans. One that would be remembered, but not grieved.

Taehyun heaves another breath beneath you, the exhale he emits is raspy, strained. He coughs once, blood coating his bottom lip. You try to sit up, a shaky hand reaching for his face. But he stops you, arms tightening their hold on you. “Stay”, he chokes, weakly pulling you against his chest, “Stay in my arms.”

You can barely hear the beating of his heart now, it’s faint and slow against the shell of your ear. “You’re just resting, right?” You quietly ask, your voice cracking on the last syllable, “Taehyun?”

“I am”, he quietly hums, arms still wrapping around you tight, stubbornly refusing to let go. It’s okay, he’s going to get better. He just needs to rest, just needs to regain his strength, then the two of you can leave together, go somewhere nice. Perhaps you can even get a home together… That would be nice, Taehyun’s first home.

It’s almost like he’s heard your silent monologue, for his arms squeeze around you just a little harder. “You should go see the long beaches”, he murmurs, “The ones in your paintings.” He pauses for a moment, as if gathering strength to even get the next words out. “They exist, y’know? Lots of animals there…” He talks about it like one would an old friend, with quiet longing for someone you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Will you come with me?”

You wait anxiously for him to answer, for him to tell you that he would be by your side, holding your hand as you walk barefoot through the sand. But Taehyun doesn’t reply. And you can only listen to each strained breath he takes. — Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, you can’t tell. All you hear is the constant slowing beating of his heart, doing little to match the fervent beating of your own.

“What do you think death is like?” He finally asks. The question catches you off guard, it was the last thing you had expected from him, the last thing you wanted to talk about right now. Still, you can’t deny him, not when you hear the pained grunts he tries to quiet, the way his arms tremble against your body as he forces himself to hold on to you.

Your fingers draw small shapes on his chest, eyes fixed to the way it rises and falls in weak pathetic breaths. “It’s painless”, you hum, “If you’re good. Then it’s just like going to sleep.” Your answer seems to make him think, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he adjusts his grip on you.

“How do you know if you’re good?” He wonders, voice low and hesitant, like this had been on his mind for longer than he’d ever admit.

“You are good”, you say, palm pressing flat against his chest in an attempt to feel him through the layers of clothes he wears, “You saved me. You made it stop.”

Through the corner of your eye you think you can see his lip twitch, a small smile tugging across his exhausted face. “Yeah”, he exhales, his body finally relaxing under yours.

“I made it stop.”

He doesn’t say anything after that and for a moment you’re content with just laying on his chest. The house is still burning not far away — a reminder of what he’d done for you, of what he’d saved you from. You peer at the flames, watching as they move, alive just for you.

There’s voices on the other side of the house — people. They must have woken up at the sight, possibly the strong smell of smoke. You can hear their worried exchanges, some louder than others, but what they’re saying remains a mystery. Still… You lift your head, trying your hardest to catch a glimpse of them, of anyone.

“Taehyun… Taehyun, there's people here…” Your fingers curl around his shirt, tugging on it slightly in an attempt to get his attention. “They will help you, come on!”

Silence.

You swallow, tearing your gaze from the burning house and back to him. His eyes have fallen shut, lips still pulled into a content smile — like he was right where he wanted to be. Your hand presses against his chest, fingers trembling as you listen after his heart. You can’t hear anything.

“Taehyun… You can stop resting now.”

“There’s people here to help you.”

“Taehyun…?”

Death isn’t cruel by nature. Man had made it that way. Your father had made you fear it, he’d made you live by his rules so that one day you would escape the fate handed out to everyone. Father had been wrong all along. For him death was dark — perhaps even painful. He was meant to suffer the way he had made those around him suffer. Death was his punishment.

But not Taehyun. Your hand brushes against his cheek, his skin is cold now, his soul somewhere else. Somewhere far away, on a long beach or by a dwindling river, where the sun always shines and the birds fly over the horizon.

Taehyun saved you.

Death would not be cruel to him.

𐔌ㅤ serene's note hi... did you cry? (say yes) anyway, if you actually read all of this... you're so strong come sit at my table and we can drink cheap wine together. yes anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts or opinions, like I love this fic a lot and I would love to talk to you guys about it :3

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