warnings: yandere themes, jealous behaviour, power imbalance, slapping, praise and degradation, dubious consent, misogynistic behaviour, baby trapping, dumbification, manipulation and gaslighting. Whew!
note: the extreme nsfw part of this hc has been redacted. the full length, nsfw version (with serious warnings) is posted on my patreon for my subscribers. it is also available for purchase by non-subscribers under the shop section.
patreon
- prof namjoon who noticed you during your first day in his class as you spilt your coffee all over the carpeted floors of his classroom-hall and bowed low enough to touch the ground in apology
-prof namjoon who, revered as the youngest professor in the university, commanded fear and respect in equal measure from all students, whose class you were warned against taking, being as he is notorious for failing more than half the students in the very first semester
-prof namjoon who, despite his abhorrence for clumsiness and insincere behaviour, is taken by an almost violent urge to glimpse your face in full as you keep bowing in apology
-prof namjoon who stumbles mid-sentence as you finally find a seat right next to the window that lets in a stream of warm sunlight and bathes you in an effervescent glow, your eyes shining with tears and cheeks red with embarrassment
-prof namjoon who feels a disgusting sense of satisfaction when he gives you the lecture of a lifetime, cold and scathing, when you approach him to apologize for the disturbance after the lecture ends and end up biting back tears at his sneer and choice of words that make you feel unworthy
-prof namjoon who picks you to answer a question during every lecture, who critiques your every opinion and response, even when the question is open-ended, just to glimpse the embarrassed and teary look in your eyes being directed at him
-prof namjoon who fixes the seating schedule, despite the students mocking him for being too strict and implementing a seating system in university, just so you would sit away from everyone else, especially from those pesky, barely adult boys with wandering eyes and too-friendly demeanours
-prof namjoon who becomes notorious for demanding short deadline assignments, killing the students’ social life, just so you would have no time to go out on the weekends and would instead have to think about his class (or, more optimistically, him)
-prof namjoon who is surprised by your dedication to your academics and grades your assignments as the highest in the class (nobody can blame him for sitting with those pieces of papers that had your intoxicating fragrance on them for hours, he even slept with them next to him. for science, of course)
-prof namjoon who thinks of you during his other lectures and calls other students by your name on accident, even turning around in the hallway to look at someone who looked like you for a moment
-prof namjoon who invites you to attend his seminar, only you, introduces you to his peers with a hand on your shoulder that tightens with each second you spend in the company of another young male professor
-prof namjoon who follows you around the buffet, carefully putting selections on your plate (you were becoming too thin, was he really overworking you so much?)
-prof namjoon who calls you to his office hours, patiently explaining every concept you had difficulty understanding (you were a little slow but that’s nothing he couldn’t remedy with his dedicated attention)
-prof namjoon who sees you holding hands with a boy in the hallway after class and cancels class for the entire week, claiming sick leave (he was sick with burning jealousy)
-prof namjoon who comes back to class, colder and meaner, whose words cut and who seems to have a vendetta against all his students, but especially you
-prof namjoon who berates you in front of the entire class for your miserable performance in the recent test, going as far as to suggest that you should opt for a course more suited to those as “simple-minded” as you
-prof namjoon who corners you in his office when you apologize to him for your poor performance and demands to know where exactly it is that you’re focussing because it surely isn’t on his classes (him)
-prof namjoon who slaps you when you argue back with him and feels a sense of satisfaction and elation as you look up at him with the same teary eyes you’d given him on the first day of your class with him
-prof namjoon who makes you sit on his lap and shushes you as you cry of embarrassment and rage, patting your head and calling you a good girl when you melt in his strong arms, aching for comfort from your offender and wanting a return to your prof who was proud of you
-prof namjoon who drops you home in his car and sends you flowers, hot chocolate and the entire set of his annotated books when you miss class the next day
-prof namjoon who shows up at your door the next evening, looking all suave and self assured, making you wonder if the previous day even happened, who takes you in his arms, presses you to his chest and tells you “i just want you to do well, my star student. im so proud of you, i really am”
-prof namjoon who starts by caressing your head as you begin sobbing in his arms again, overwhelmed by your confusing emotions, and begins to press light kisses on the top of your head that is tucked under his chin as he murmurs reassurances
-prof namjoon who rests his forehead against yours, looking deeply into your eyes as he rubs your cheeks before pressing his lips on the apples of your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut with a moan
-prof namjoon who crushes you to his chest as he licks your lips, pressing soft kisses on the corners of your mouth, tasting the salt of your fresh tears before sucking your lower lip as you let out a soft whine
-prof namjoon who asks you, “who has tasted this sinful mouth before me, angel?” before smirking at your refusal and saying “i will teach you, baby, just like everything else, i will teach you this too”
-prof namjoon who takes you throughout the evening, alternating between violent, rough sex and sweet, gentle love making, leaving you a trembling, sensitive, over-stimulated mess with hickeys painted all over your body
-prof namjoon who bathes you, shampoos your hair and tucks you in bed before leaving for his classes the next day
-prof namjoon who begins overtaking your life, taking you to uni with him in the mornings, teaching you in the afternoon, cooking you dinner in the evening, and making you cry on his bed with pain and pleasure throughout the night
-prof namjoon who subtly starts undermining your academic life, criticising your papers for your other classes, bringing you coloring books for kids when he goes on his bookstore runs, encouraging you to take leaves from the uni whenever you feel like it and fucking you from behind on your study table till you cannot stand on your two legs, till his cum is running down and puddling near your feet
-prof namjoon who refuses to wear a condom and “forgets” to pull out, taking you out for expensive dinners and shopping whenever you bring this up, afraid for the future
-prof namjoon who is happy when you jump into his arms one evening, devastated with the positive pregnancy test in your hands, and kisses you all over your face, spinning you around with joy as he tells you how happy he is that your beautiful body is nurturing the life he created inside it
-prof namjoon who stops you from going to uni, citing his concerns about a sensitive pregnancy and asks you to shift to online school, registering your name in one (after striking it off your uni admission list)
-prof namjoon who is overjoyed at you being confined to his house, per the constraints of your condition, and looks forward to coming home early each evening to surprise you with flowers and an oral orgasm
-prof namjoon who gently forbids you from talking to your male neighbours, affirming his right over your body as he pounds into you with your legs over his shoulders, grasping at your swinging breasts as you gasp for air
-prof namjoon who cannot believe how lucky he is, having his son and wife waiting at home for him, each day as he provides for them
SUMMARY: Ending your relationship on a sour note, you never expected your childhood best friend, Jimin, to enter back into your life. Least of all, as your roommate’s boyfriend. Determined to keep your distance, you try to keep him at an arm’s length. But your childhood best friend turned bully has a score to settle.
PAIRING: Jimin X Reader
WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, implied stalking, mean!Jimin, slight non-con, blackmailing behaviour, infidelity (not between the MCs), gun violence.
Word Count: 9k+
Note: Dedicated to my dear friend and patron m1n.ty, by whom this fic was originally commissioned and who has very kindly agreed to letting me post it!
PATREON
You met Park Jimin on a Tuesday afternoon when you were eight years old and still new enough to the school that every hallway felt unfamiliar.
The cafeteria was louder than anything you were used to. Voices were echoing off high ceilings, trays were clattering and children were shouting across tables as if silence was a crime punishable by death. You stood there for a moment longer than necessary with your tray in hand, scanning the room with the quiet desperation of someone hoping a seat might magically appear beside a friendly face.
Instead, a boy nearly collided with you.
He skidded to a halt just in time, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. His cherubic face filled your field of vision, chubby hands grabbing at the air in front of him in an attempt to find his balance.
“Whoa,” he said, steadying the tray before it tipped out of your hands. “Careful.”
You blinked up at him.
He was small for his age but there was an artless sort of ease and innocence in the way he stood there. His hair was a soft sandy blond that curled slightly at the ends and his eyes held the kind of playful brightness that suggested trouble was never very far away.
“Sorry” you said. You felt kind of embarrassed standing here in front of this beautiful looking boy, streaked as your cheeks were with the tear tracks that had made their way down your face as your mom had dropped you off in front of your new school.
He glanced at your tray, then back at the cafeteria, then finally at you again.
“You’re new?”
You nodded. You hoped desperately that he would offer you a hand of friendship and you wouldnt have to stand here awkwardly anymore.
“I could tell. You’re standing there like you’re waiting for someone to adopt you.” He smiled at you mischievously.
You frowned.
“I’m looking for a seat.”
“Well you won’t find one just standing there.”
Before you could protest, he reached over, grabbed your wrist with casual familiarity and began weaving through the tables.
“Come on.”
You stumbled after him, startled but too curious to pull away.
“Where are we going?”
“My table. All my friends are there too” he said simply.
He stopped near the back of the cafeteria where a small group of kids were already halfway through their lunches. A boy with glasses looked up.
“Jimin, who is this?”
“New friend,” Jimin interrupted, nudging a chair out with his foot. “Scoot.”
The others shifted without argument and before you could question it further, you were seated among them. Jimin dropped into the chair beside you.
“I’m Jimin” he said, opening his milk carton. “What’s your name?”
You told him.
He grinned, stuffing his face with the mini choco chip cookies in front of him. At your continued stare, he forwarded the packet and nudged at you to take some.
You stared at the cookies.
“Are you bribing me?”
“Obviously.”
You picked one up.
“Why?”
Jimin shrugged easily.
“Because making friends is easier than being bored.”
That was the beginning.
From that day forward, Park Jimin inserted himself into your life with the natural ease of someone who had already decided he belonged there. He walked you to class as soon as you entered through the school gates. He shared his snacks with you when you forgot yours and stole your pencils when he was bored just to watch you get annoyed. When other kids tried to pick on you for being the new girl, Jimin stepped between you and them with a bright smile that somehow managed to be both charming and mildly threatening. You grew immensely fond of him, becoming his partner in crime whenever he went around teasing other classmates. The two of you were like two peas in a pod, with the same sense of humor, mannerisms, even your favorite games.
By the time you were ten, it felt impossible to imagine your school days without him.
You didn’t know anything about his family beyond the vague fact that his grandfather worked in politics. Jimin didn’t talk about it much and you didn’t care enough to ask. To you, he was just Jimin. The boy who climbed trees better than anyone else. The boy who laughed too loudly during quiet reading hour. The boy who always saved you a seat. If anyone had asked you then, you probably would have said he was your best friend. For a while, that was enough.
Until the adults found out.
It happened on your birthday. Your parents had allowed you to invite a few friends over for a small party at your house. It was something you had been excited about for weeks. When your mother asked who you wanted to invite, you rattled off names without much thought. Jimin’s had been the first.
You didn’t notice the way your father’s expression changed when you mentioned it.
“Y/N,” she said carefully “how long have you known this boy?”
You glanced up from your bed.
“Jimin? Since third grade.”
Your father stepped into the room behind her.
“Park Jimin?” he asked sharply.
You frowned.
“I guess? That’s his last name.”
Your mother exchanged a look with your father. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed his temple like you had just given him terrible news.
“You can’t see him anymore, kiddo” he said.
The words were so sudden that for a moment you thought you’d misheard.
“What? Why?”
“Y/N, we cannot be seen with any member from his family” your mother explained.
“But why, Mama?”
Your father didn’t bother softening it.
“His grandfather is Park Yeoncheol. You know that your Papa lost the last elections because of him. Your granddad would be very angry if he finds out that you’re friends with the Park boy.”
“Oh.”
Your mother stepped closer, kneeling in front of you.
“This isn’t your fault” she said gently. “But it’s better if you keep your distance from him.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Do you want Papa to be angry at you? He loves you so much. He would be so sad if he hears of this, love.”
You tried arguing after that. You tried explaining that none of this had anything to do with you or Jimin. Your parents didn’t care.
The next day at school, the words felt heavy in your throat.
Jimin found you by the lockers like he always did.
“Y/N! Have you thought about which cake you’re going to order for the party? You know I love black forest but I can also make do with butterscotch.” He grinned at you cheekily.
You hesitated.
His smile slowly faded when he saw your expression.
“What’s wrong?”
You swallowed.
“My parents found out who your grandfather is.”
Jimin frowned slightly.
“…Okay?”
“They don’t want me talking to you anymore.”
The confusion on his face lasted exactly three seconds before disbelief replaced it.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because our families are rivals.”
He stared at you. “And?”
“And they said we can’t be friends.”
Jimin laughed not because it was funny but because the alternative was worse.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.”
“So we should just ignore them.”
You shook your head helplessly.
“They’ll ground me.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll just keep hanging out at school.”
“They’ll find out.”
“They don’t have to.”
Your chest tightened.
“You’re not understanding.”
“No” Jimin said quietly, “I think I am.”
The shift in his voice made your stomach drop.
“You’re choosing them.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re doing exactly what they told you.”
“I’m ten!”
“And?”
“And I can’t just ignore my parents! I don’t want to make Papa sad” Your lips wobbled, eyes filling with tears at your situation.
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Jimin looked away. When he looked back, the softness that usually lived in his expression was gone.
“Fine,” he said lightly.
The sudden indifference caught you off guard.
“Fine?”
“Yeah.”
You waited for him to argue more but he didn’t.
“You’re not even going to fight me on this?” you asked.
“What’s the point?”
“You just said it was stupid!”
“It is.”
“Then why are you acting like you don’t care?”
Something that looked very close to hurt flickered in his eyes. But it vanished quickly behind a careless smile.
“Because if you’re going to dump me that easily,” he said “we probably weren’t that good of friends anyway.”
The words hit harder than you expected. You eyes widened, two fat tears rolling down your cheeks.
“That’s not true.”
“Sure.”
“Jimin-”
“Don’t worry about it, Y/N”
You watched him walk away with a strange tightness in your chest, knowing you had lost that sweet boy, your sweet boy, forever. That was the moment everything changed.
At first, the change in Jimin wasn’t obvious. For the first few days after your parents forbade the friendship, he simply stopped approaching you. He no longer waited by your locker in the mornings or dragged you toward the cafeteria during lunch. When you passed him in the hallway, he didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t even acknowledge your presence beyond a brief glance that slid away as quickly as it appeared.
It should have made things easier. Instead, it made everything feel strangely hollow. You had expected anger. Some kind of confrontation. Jimin had never been the quiet type and his sudden indifference felt more unsettling than a fight would have.
A week passed like that.
Then the comments started.
You were reaching into your locker one morning when Jimin leaned against the metal door beside it, a sneer pulling on his otherwise sweet face.
“Well, if it isn’t the girl who abandons her friends because her dad told her to.”
Your hand froze halfway to your backpack, shame and guilt clawing at your chest. You did realise what a bad friend you had been to him but your pride wouldn’t let you admit it in front of the entire school.
“I didn’t abandon you” you said stiffly.
He finally glanced at you, eyes bright with amusement.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I tried to explain.”
“Sure.” His mouth curved slightly. “You know, I told my grandfather about that.”
Your head snapped toward him.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“And what did he say?”
Jimin shrugged.
“He thought it was funny.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
“That’s not funny.”
“No” he agreed lightly. “It’s pathetic.”
The insult stung more than you expected.
“You’re being rude, Jimin.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
He pushed himself upright, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
“Well” he said as he started walking away “at least I’m consistent.”
The encounters didn’t stop there. If anything, they became more frequent.
Jimin had always been mischievous but now his attention carried a sharper edge and without his support, you were unbearably alone.
When you raised your hand to answer a question in class, he would mutter something just loud enough for the surrounding students to hear.
“Careful, guys” he’d say. “She might cry if the answer’s wrong.”
When you joined a group game during gym, he would conveniently end up on the opposite team.
“You probably shouldn’t run” he told you once, blocking your path with an easy smile. “Wouldn’t want to hurt yourself. You know that you’re not very sporty.”
You shoved past him.
“Move.”
“Oh” he said brightly, “she bites now.”
You learned quickly that reacting only encouraged him.
But ignoring Jimin Park had always been difficult, even when he was infuriating. Especially then.
One afternoon during recess, you were sitting under the large oak tree near the edge of the field when a shadow fell across your book. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly.
Jimin crouched down in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s new.”
He ignored the comment.
“If your parents are so worried about us being friends, maybe they’re right.”
You glanced up.
“What does that mean?”
“It means maybe you’re not worth the trouble.”
Your jaw tightened.
“Then why do you keep bothering me?”
Jimin tilted his head slightly, studying your face. The silence stretched long enough that you wondered if he was going to answer at all. Finally he smiled.
“Because it’s fun.”
The words were light but something about the way he said them made your chest feel tight.
“You’re cruel,” you said quietly.
“Aww”
Then he reached forward and tugged sharply on one of your pigtails. The sudden sting made you yelp, your face screwing up as you tried to push back the incoming tears.
Jimin laughed as he straightened.
“You should wear your hair down” he said. “This is too easy.”
“Just leave me alone.”
His smile lingered for a moment longer before fading into something unreadable.
“Maybe I will” he said.
But he didn’t. Because even when he mocked you or stole your pencils or made snide remarks loud enough for half the classroom to hear, Jimin never let anyone else do the same.
One boy had tried once. The result was a black eye and a week-long suspension for Jimin. When the teacher had asked what happened, he only shrugged. “Tripped” he had said.
You heard about it later from someone else. You didn’t thank him but the warmth in your heart that you had carried only for him, since you were eight, even when his childish cruelty made you sob quietly in the washroom stalls, only burned brighter.
You argued more than you spoke normally, sometimes the insults were sharp enough to draw blood. But there were also moments when the old Jimin slipped through. Like the day you forgot your lunch and found a familiar packet of cookies sitting quietly on your desk during class. Or the time you tripped on the stairs and he grabbed your arm before you could fall, only to immediately shove you away afterward and mutter something about clumsiness.
Neither of you acknowledged those moments.
Then, during the summer before eighth grade, your parents made another decision.
“You’re transferring schools next semester” your father announced casually.
You looked up from your plate.
“What?”
“A boarding school” your mother clarified gently. “It’s one of the best in the country.”
“But my school is fine.”
Your father exchanged a look with your mother.
“This will be better for your future.”
“You’re sending me away because of him” you realized.
Your father didn’t deny it.
“It removes unnecessary complications.”
Your chest tightened.
“That’s stupid.”
“Y/N-”
“I already stopped being friends with him!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Your father’s voice hardened slightly.
“The point is that you need to grow up and focus on your studies.”
You wanted to argue and to scream but deep down you knew the decision had already been made, like all the decisions before this.
And two weeks later, you packed your bags.
The last day before you left, you saw Jimin standing near the school gates after class. He leaned against the fence with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking like he had been there for a while. You almost walked past him.
“I’m leaving” you said.
Jimin didn’t move.
“Yeah” he replied quietly. “I heard.”
“Boarding school.”
“Sounds fancy. You must be happy.”
You sighed. No matter how much you might hope for it, the boy you thought was your best friend, your confidant, the boy whose eyes and innocent smile made your childish heart skip beats, just couldn’t be found anymore.
Finally you shifted awkwardly.
“Well then, goodbye.”
Jimin’s head lifted slightly as something flickered in his eyes.
“Goodbye?” he repeated.
You swallowed.
“What else am I supposed to say?”
He studied your face for a long moment. Then he laughed softly.
“You always were dramatic.”
The familiar mockery should have been comforting. Instead it felt hollow.
“I guess I’ll see you around” you said.
He didn’t reply. You hesitated. For a moment you almost apologized.
Then you remembered the months of teasing, the constant insults, the way he had made school feel like a battlefield. So you didn’t.
You turned and walked away instead, hoping against hope that he might stop you, or just wish you goodbye once so you could hold the hand of the only boy you had ever loved in your young life. But nothing like that happened. Jimin watched you go.
Boarding school forced you to rebuild your life faster than you would have liked. The first few months were awkward and lonely in the quiet, suffocating way that comes from realizing nobody around you knows who you used to be. No childhood routines. No familiar faces. Just long hallways, strict schedules and the constant expectation that you would adjust.
Eventually, you did. Mostly because of Kelly. She arrived halfway through your first semester with the sort of personality that refused to be ignored, friendly in a way that made resistance pointless. Within a week she had decided you were her person and within a month the rest of the dorm seemed to accept that the two of you operated as a unit.
Kelly talked enough for both of you. She filled silences easily, dragged you into social situations you normally would have avoided and somehow made the sterile atmosphere of the academy feel almost bearable. More importantly, she never asked about the strange gaps in your stories. When people reminisced about childhood friends or hometown memories, you simply changed the subject. It wasn’t difficult. The truth was that you had spent a long time deliberately not thinking about Jimin. At first, the anger had made that easy. Memories of his smirking face in the hallway or the relentless teasing during class had been enough to convince yourself that cutting him out of your life had been the right decision. You had repeated that logic often enough that eventually it started sounding believable. The crush you had harbored on him despite his cruel nagging started feeling stupid and hazy and anger took its place.
Time helped too. Three years was a long time when you were young. Long enough for old friendships to fade into something hazy and distant.
By the time you and Kelly graduated and moved to the city together for university, Park Jimin had become little more than an unpleasant chapter you rarely revisited.
Which was why you didn’t think twice when Kelly burst into your apartment one evening with a grin that practically split her face in half.
“You have to meet him” she announced, dropping her bag onto the couch.
You looked up from your laptop with mild suspicion.
“Meet who?”
“My boyfriend.”
You blinked.
“Since when do you have a boyfriend?”
“Since two months ago.”
“And you’re telling me now?”
Kelly flopped dramatically into the armchair across from you.
“Because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a disaster first.”
You snorted.
“That’s optimistic. What’s so special about this one, then?”
“He’s different.”
“They always are.”
Kelly pointed a finger at you accusingly.
“You’re being negative.”
“I’m just being realistic.”
“You’ll like him, I’m sure.”
“That’s exactly what you said about the wannabe finance bro who tried to explain investment portfolios to us during brunch.”
Kelly waved the comment away impatiently.
“Jimin is not like that.”
The name barely registered at first. It was common enough that your brain didn’t immediately attach meaning to it.
“Oh?” you said absently. “What’s he like?”
Kelly leaned back with a dreamy smile.
“Kind of an asshole, honestly.”
You raised an eyebrow, a smile splitting your face.
“That’s a selling point?”
“But in a charming way” she insisted. “You know the type. Sarcastic, confident, a little mean but funny enough that you can’t really be mad about it.”
Something in your chest shifted faintly, though you couldn’t immediately explain why.
“And you like this man?” you asked.
“Unfortunately.”
You shook your head.
“You have terrible taste. It has been proven time and again.”
“He’s also ridiculously attractive.”
“Ah” you said as you snorted “Now we’re getting to the real reason.”
Kelly grabbed a pillow and threw it at you.
“Just come to dinner tonight.”
You caught the pillow and tossed it back.
“I already have plans.”
“With who?”
You hesitated.
“…Myself.”
“Cancel them. Please, for me.”
“I’m not cancelling my evening alone because you’re in love with a jerk.”
“You’re not cancelling” Kelly corrected. “You’re upgrading. Besides, you should go out a little. Socialize, talk to a few guys. How in the world would you ever get a boyfriend if you continue this? It’s not like men are queuing up around the block for a girl who never leaves home.”
You stared at her for a moment before sighing, a small twinge pinching your heart at the constant reminder of your perpetually single status. You knew Kelly didn’t mean it in an insulting way.
The bar was loud in the comfortable way that came with a busy Friday night, music humming through the walls, conversation spilling over from crowded tables, the soft clink of glasses behind the counter.
You spotted Kelly immediately.
She was already sitting in a booth near the back, waving enthusiastically when she saw you. And someone else was sitting across from her. For a moment you only noticed the posture first. Relaxed and leaning back slightly in the booth like the entire room was his.
Then he turned his head.
Shaggy blonde hair fell loosely across his forehead, longer than it had been when you were children. The cut was deliberately careless, giving him a slightly rebellious edge that matched the dark jacket slung over the back of his chair. As he turned, the sharp line of his jaw, contrasted by the plump shape of his lips that were pulled into a knowing smile made your face heat up and your heart pump erratically in your chest. And his eyes. Oh, those pools of obsidian, so predator- like in their feline shape. Cruel in the exact same way you remembered.
Park Jimin’s eyes met yours across the bar. He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked entertained.
Kelly stood up eagerly. “There you are!”
Your feet carried you forward automatically, though every instinct in your body screamed that something had just gone very, very wrong.
“Y/N,” Kelly said brightly, “this is my boyfriend.”
Jimin’s gaze never left your face. His smile widened slowly, like someone savoring a private joke.
“Jimin,” Kelly finished happily.
You stared at him.
He looked older, obviously, with a sharper jawline, broader shoulders, confidence worn like a second skin but the essence of him was exactly the same. Dangerously self-assured.
Jimin tilted his head slightly as you approached the table and sat down on the furthest possible chair from him to avoid his penetrating gaze.
“Well” he said smoothly.
His voice had deepened over the years but the tone was unmistakable.
“That’s a familiar face.”
Kelly glanced between you both.
“You two know each other?”
You opened your mouth.
Before you could answer, Jimin spoke first.
“Oh, we go way back.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten. Meanwhile, Kelly looked delighted.
“Seriously? That’s crazy.”
Jimin’s eyes flicked over you slowly, deliberately after giving Kelly a smirk.
“You’ve changed, Y/N” he said.
You folded your arms.
“You haven’t.”
His grin sharpened, almost baring his teeth as his eyes flicked over your face cruelly as if cataloguing for the faults in your visage.
Kelly laughed nervously.
“Okay, I feel like I’m missing context.”
Jimin leaned his elbow on the table, still watching you with unsettling focus.
“We were childhood friends,” he explained lightly.
You let out a short, humorless laugh.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Not the way you’d choose?”
“I’d say something closer to ‘childhood menace.’”
Kelly looked between you both with growing fascination.
“Oh my god,” she said. “You two hate each other.”
Jimin’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Hate is a strong word.”
You met his eyes coolly.
“Not strong enough.”
For a moment the tension between you was almost tangible. Then Jimin leaned back in the booth with a quiet chuckle, his dark blue shirt pulling at his chest, affording you a view of the lean muscles of his chest. You gulped as your eyes flickered away.
“Well,” he said casually, “this should make things interesting.”
Dinner that night should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it became something worse. Jimin had always been the kind of person who thrived in chaos and the moment he realized exactly how awkward the situation was, he settled into it with the easy confidence of someone who had just been handed an extremely entertaining toy.
Kelly, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running between the two of you, spent the first ten minutes enthusiastically filling the silence.
“So you guys went to school together?” she asked, glancing between you.
Jimin rested his chin lightly on his hand, his gaze still fixed on you with unsettling patience.
“Something like that.”
You picked up your drink, deliberately avoiding his eyes.
“We survived the same building, at least I did. Jimin here was too busy trying to make sure that I didn’t.” you corrected.
Kelly laughed.
“That sounds dramatic.”
Jimin’s smile tilted.
“She’s always been dramatic. Trying to make everything bigger than it really is. I don’t remember any such antagonistic feelings between us. Maybe my memory of you is just hazy, Y/N.”
You scoffed quietly as he tried to deliberately downplay your relationship, smirking at you cheekily.
“You used to pull girls’ hair and call them dramatic when they got mad.”
Kelly looked delighted.
“Oh my god, really?”
“Constantly” you said, taking a sip of the drink that had already been ordered before you had arrived. It was your favorite. Kelly remembered that for once.
Jimin didn’t look remotely embarrassed.
“I was ten.”
“You were annoying.”
“And you were easy to annoy. Always so stuck up and allergic to fun. Has she become any better?” He laughed, putting an arm behind Kelly’s chair as he peered at her, egging Kelly on in an attempt to humiliate you. Kelly merely let out an uncomfortable snort.
Dinner continued like that for a while.
Kelly talked. You responded politely. Jimin watched.
It became increasingly difficult not to notice the way his attention kept drifting back to you. The subtle, almost lazy glances that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
When Kelly reached for his hand across the table, he allowed it without hesitation. But his gaze never left your face. You felt it every time.
By the end of the meal, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.
“So,” Kelly said cheerfully as the waiter cleared the plates and accepted Jimin’s card that he so graciously forwarded before the two of you could say anything, “we should all hang out sometime. The three of us.”
You immediately shook your head, “I’m busy.”
Jimin chuckled softly.
“You didn’t even ask when.”
“I don’t need to.”
Kelly rolled her eyes.
“You’re being rude.”
“I’m being honest. I need to work hard this semester if I want to land an internship.”
Jimin leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I missed this.”
You looked at him sharply.
“Missed what?”
“This charming personality of yours.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not for you.”
“Really?” he asked mildly, an eyebrow hitching.
Something about the question made your stomach tighten. Kelly sighed.
Unfortunately, he was right. Over the next few weeks, Park Jimin began appearing in your life with irritating consistency.
It started innocently enough.
Kelly inviting you both to brunch. A movie night. Drinks after class. At first, you assumed it was a coincidence.
Then you started noticing patterns. If Kelly suggested meeting somewhere, Jimin would already know the place. If you mentioned plans in passing, somehow he ended up nearby. Even when the two of you, Kelly and you, would make plans to hang out sans Jimin, he would inevitably show up to annoy you.
Once would have been chance.
Three times felt suspicious.
By the fifth time, it felt deliberate.
You were leaving the campus library late one evening when you spotted him leaning against the hood of a black sports car parked across the street.
Your steps slowed.
Jimin glanced up as if he had been expecting you. His mouth curved into a familiar smirk.
“Well,” he said as you approached, “look who it is.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“Why are you here?”
“Kelly mentioned you were studying.”
“That was four hours ago.”
He shrugged.
“I had time.”
Something about that answer made irritation spark immediately.
“You waited four hours?”
“Don’t sound so flattered.”
“I’m not flattered. I’m confused.”
Jimin pushed himself off the hood of his car, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his tailored charcoal pants.
“Kelly wanted to grab dinner together.”
“She could have texted me.”
“She did.”
You checked your phone. There was a message you hadn’t seen. You looked back up at him suspiciously.
“You still didn’t need to wait.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“You’re being weird, you know that right?”
“I’ve been told.”
You stared at him for a moment longer.
“Where’s Kelly?”
“Running late.”
“So it’s just us?”
“For now.”
You exhaled slowly.
“Fantastic.”
Jimin studied your expression with quiet amusement.
“You’re still holding a grudge.”
“You were insufferable for two years.”
“You deserved most of it.”
Your jaw tightened and you looked away from his face. The street lights casted a yellow so pale on his face that his skin looked almost luminescent, eyes glowing as they dug into yours.
There was a brief pause. Then he tilted his head slightly.
“You cut your hair.”
You blinked.
“…What?”
“It used to be longer.”
The comment caught you off guard.
“How would you know that?”
Jimin shrugged lightly.
“I notice things.”
The answer felt oddly vague but before you could press further, Kelly’s voice called from across the street.
“Sorry! Traffic was awful!”
She hurried toward you both, slightly out of breath.
Jimin stepped back easily as she reached them. You realised how close the two of you had been standing, him with one of his hands on his car and the other inside his pocket as he bent towards you, your faces close together. Your heart was thundering.
“Miss us?” he asked.
“Obviously” she replied, slipping her arm through his.
The movement should have looked natural instead it felt strangely performative. He glanced at you briefly. Just long enough for you to see the quiet amusement in his eyes.
Jimin didn’t just tolerate your presence. He seemed to seek it out. If Kelly invited you somewhere, he made sure he came along. If you declined plans, he conveniently had some work come up. In front of your eyes, Jimin would be unbearably touchy, constantly putting his arm around Kelly’s shoulders and caressing her face. It was irritating but you bore it for your friend’s sake. However, stranger still was your friend’s confession that Jimin had yet to kiss her. When you asked what was stopping him, Kelly looked uncharacteristically abashed and murmured that he was old fashioned and wanted to wait. It was a strange contrast. Nevertheless, this PDA in front of you (sans the kissing), never stopped.
Sometimes he provoked you directly. Other times he simply observed. It was subtle enough that Kelly never noticed but you did.
One evening during drinks, Kelly excused herself to take a phone call outside, leaving the two of you alone at the table.
You didn’t bother pretending politeness.
“Alright,” you said flatly.
Jimin lifted an eyebrow, his hand coming up to gently caress his lower lip, the silver ring on his thumb and the watch on his wrist catching the strobing lights.
“Alright what?”
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking.”
“You know what I mean.”
His lips curved faintly.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
“You hate me.”
“That’s a strong word.”
“You bullied me for two years.”
“And you abandoned me first.”
“That was years ago.”
“Time flies.”
You leaned forward slightly.
“Then why are you constantly around me now? And what are you doing with Kelly? ”
Jimin studied you quietly for a moment. There was something unsettling about the calm focus in his eyes. Finally he smiled.
“You give me something to do.”
He ignored the latter part of your question completely. Your expression darkened.
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
Kelly returned before you could respond.
The conversation ended there but the tension didn’t because deep down, a quiet suspicion had begun forming in the back of your mind. Jimin’s behavior wasn’t just annoying. It was intentional.
And the way he watched you sometimes, too attentive, too patient, felt less like coincidence and more like someone slowly tightening invisible strings. You just hadn’t figured out why yet.
Jimin, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to let the game continue. And judging by the faint, cruel satisfaction in his smile whenever you snapped at him he was enjoying every second of it.
The club had been Kelly’s idea. Your semester exams were finally over and the reprieve from the academic pressure made you give in to her demand, even knowing your nemesis would surely be coming along.
It was loud in the kind of deliberate way that made conversation difficult and bad decisions easier. Music pulsed through the walls and floor alike, bass vibrating through your ribs as people crowded the dance floor beneath flashing lights.
You normally avoided places like this but tonight you had made an exception.
Kelly was already halfway through her second drink when she leaned across the table with a grin.
“I swear,” she said over the music, “you’ve been in a bad mood for weeks. We’re fixing that tonight.”
“I’m not in a bad mood” you replied.
She gave you a look that suggested she didn’t believe you for a second.
“Really? Because you’ve been snapping at everyone lately. Especially Jimin.”
At the mention of his name, your gaze shifted automatically across the room. He was standing near the bar with one hand resting casually on the counter, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Even from a distance he looked completely at ease with his dark leather jacket pushed back slightly, shaggy blonde hair falling over his eyes as he leaned in to hear his companion.
As if sensing your attention, Jimin glanced up and your eyes met across the crowded room.
For a brief moment the noise seemed to fade behind the weight of his stare. Then his mouth curved into that familiar, infuriating smile. You looked away immediately. Kelly followed your gaze.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think you two secretly enjoy hating each other.”
“That sentence doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if you’ve watched the way you argue.”
“We don’t argue.”
“You absolutely do. Like two siblings constantly at each other’s throats.”
You picked up your drink, an unknown guilt suffusing your chest at her words.
“He antagonizes me, that’s all.”
Kelly laughed.
“And you antagonize him right back.”
“Because he deserves it. Prick.”
Kelly leaned back in her chair, sighing.
“You’re both exhausting.”
You took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the lingering awareness of Jimin somewhere behind you.
It didn’t help. Because even without looking, you could feel his attention like a physical weight.
After another few minutes, Kelly’s phone buzzed. She glanced down and groaned. Her journalism internship demanded all sorts of odd hours.
“Ugh. I have to take this.”
“Work?”
“Unfortunately.”
She stood, already heading toward the quieter hallway near the bathrooms.
“Don’t disappear on me” she warned.
“I won’t.”
The moment she left, the table felt strangely emptier.
You waited a few seconds before standing. Sitting alone felt awkward and the music was loud enough that dancing seemed like the easier distraction. The dance floor was crowded but energetic, bodies moving under shifting lights as the DJ changed songs.
You pushed your way into the center, letting the music drown out your thoughts. For a few minutes, it worked. Then someone tapped your shoulder.
You turned to see a tall guy with dark hair and a friendly smile.
“Hey,” he said, raising his voice slightly over the music. “You looked like you were dancing alone.”
“I was, yeah.”
“Mind if I fix that?”
You considered it briefly, your intoxicated brain considering the prospect. Then shrugged.
“Sure.”
He introduced himself though the name disappeared almost immediately under the music and you both moved with the rhythm of the crowd. It was harmless. The kind of meaningless interaction that usually faded from memory by morning. As his eyes lightly fell on your hips, you sashayed to the beat.
You didn’t notice Jimin until it was too late.
He had been watching from the edge of the floor for several minutes.
At first he simply observed. The way the stranger’s hand settled lightly on your waist. The way you laughed at something he said. The easy closeness of two people sharing a moment that had nothing to do with him.
Jimin’s expression remained calm but the longer he watched, the tighter his jaw became. Something dark and sharp twisted slowly in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy in the usual sense. It was something far more possessive, something that had been simmering quietly for years, something that was made crueler and darker by your callous abandonment of him, twice.
By the time the stranger’s hand slid slightly lower on your waist, Jimin had already made his decision.
He stepped onto the dance floor. The crowd shifted instinctively as he pushed through, his gaze locked firmly on the two of you. You didn’t notice him until a hand closed firmly around the stranger’s shoulder. The man turned, confused.
“Hey-”
The crack of the gunshot cut through the music like lightning. For a moment nobody moved. The sound echoed through the club as the bullet struck the ceiling above the dance floor, plaster raining down onto startled bodies below. Screams followed immediately after and music stopped abruptly. People began pushing toward the exits in sudden panic.
You stood frozen as Jimin lowered the handgun casually back to his side.
His eyes were burning, chest heaving as he ground down his teeth.
The stranger beside you stared in shock.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.
Jimin didn’t answer. Instead he reached for the bottle sitting on a nearby table. The movement was so quick the man barely had time to react. Glass shattered against the side of his head with a brutal crack. The stranger collapsed instantly.
You stumbled back, heart hammering. The haze of vodka was finally clearing though not fast enough for you to run away from him like a bat out of hell.
“Jimin, what the hell are you doing?”
His gaze snapped toward you and the fury there was terrifying.
“What am I doing?” he repeated quietly, his eyes burning into yours.
“You just assaulted someone!”
Jimin stepped closer, the broken bottle still clutched loosely in his hand.
“You let him touch you.”
Your disbelief flared into anger.
“Excuse me?”
His voice dropped dangerously low.
“I was watching him all night. The way he kept looking at you. The way he thought he could just walk up and put his hands on you like that.”
“You’re insane.”
“Am I?”
“Yes!”
People were still scrambling toward the exits around you, the chaos building with every second. Jimin didn’t seem to notice. His entire focus was fixed on you.
“You think I’m insane,” he said slowly, “but you were the one standing there smiling while some stranger felt you up in the middle of a club.”
“He was dancing with me!”
“And that makes it acceptable?”
“It’s none of your business!”
Jimin laughed sharply.
“You really believe that?”
“Yes!”
The tension between you snapped.
“You’re dating my best friend!” you shouted.
His smile was cold. “That’s interesting.”
You stared at him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jimin stepped closer again.
“You know what I find funny?” he said softly. “The fact that after all these years, you still act like you don’t understand the situation.”
“What situation?”
“This one.”
He gestured lazily between the two of you.
Your anger sharpened.
“You pulled a gun in a crowded club because I danced with someone.”
“You let him touch you.”
“You’re not my boyfriend! In fact, you are not even my friend. You are nobody to me. You don’t get to decide anything for me!”
Jimin’s expression darkened further.
“No,” he said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean you belong to anyone else.”
The possessiveness in his tone sent a chill down your spine.
“You’ve lost your mind. You really have.” You said, finally moving away from him as the gravity of the situation sunk in. His gaze followed you like a hunter carefully tracking a prey animal.
“Maybe.”
Your patience finally snapped.
“Listen carefully, Jimin, because I’m only going to say this once.”
You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a dangerously calm level.
“You don’t get to control me. Not now. Not ever. Whatever weird obsession you’ve built up in your head does not give you the right to dictate who I talk to or who I dance with.”
For a brief moment, something like amusement flickered in his eyes.
“You think this is about control?”
“What else would it be?”
Jimin leaned down slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.
“It’s about the fact that you’ve been walking around for weeks pretending you don’t notice what’s happening.”
Your stomach tightened. “I notice that you’re an asshole.”
He chuckled quietly.
“You’ve always been good at avoiding the obvious.”
“And what exactly is ‘the obvious’?”
His eyes searched your face with unsettling intensity.
“The obvious,” he murmured, “is that I’ve spent years making sure you never forget I exist.”
Before you could respond, the distant wail of sirens cut through the chaos. Jimin glanced toward the entrance. Then he smiled again.
“Perfect timing.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“What did you do?”
He looked back at you.
“I called the police.”
For a moment you simply stared at him.
“You shot a gun in a club… and then called the police on yourself?”
“Not exactly.”
Understanding dawned slowly.
“You reported the club.”
“Anonymous tip” he confirmed casually.
You felt vaguely nauseous at the chaos that had inundated your life and opened your mouth to say somehting.
“Relax,” he interrupted. “They’ll shut the place down for the night. No big deal.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
The sound of approaching police cars grew louder outside. Jimin grabbed your wrist.
“Come on.”
You jerked your arm back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You can stay if you want,” he said calmly. “But when the police start asking questions about who fired the gun, things might get complicated.”
Your stomach dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
His expression was almost innocent. “Wouldn’t what?”
“You’d drag my family into this?”
Jimin’s smile returned slowly.
“Your father’s entire campaign revolves around public image. Imagine how interesting the headlines would be if his daughter got caught up in a nightclub shooting. And, remind me again, where is the petty princess who would dump anyone to be in her family’s good graces?” He looked around theatrically before grabbing your arm and pulling you close to his chest as he exclaimed, “There she is!”
Your pulse spiked. “You’re a psychopath.”
You only got a cruel smile in return before he began dragging you towards the exit, his hand clutching your arm in a vice grip. Throwing you inside his car with a cruel carelessness, he shut the door with a bang. The engine roared to life.
As the police flooded into the club behind you, Jimin sped into the night. The city lights blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow as the car tore through empty streets. He didn’t slow down until you were miles away.
When he finally stopped in an empty overlook above the city, you shoved yourself out of the car immediately.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded.
Jimin moved out to stand in front of you calmly. “You’re welcome.”
“For what? Are you serious?”
“For getting you out of there before things got messy.”
“You caused the mess!”
“Yes,” he agreed easily. The casual admission made your blood boil.
“You assaulted someone, fired a gun in public, blackmailed me, and now you’re acting like you did me a favor.”
Jimin stepped closer. “You’re missing the important part.”
“And what part is that?” You seethed.
His gaze darkened. “You were dancing with someone else.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
“Shut up! That’s your takeaway from this entire situation?”
“It’s the only part that mattered.”
Your temper finally exploded.
“You don’t get to decide what matters in my life! You’re nobody to me, understand? You were dead to me the moment I left you in the dust back then!”
Jimin grabbed your face suddenly and kissed you. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. It was rough, demanding, almost violent in its intensity. One of his hands held your jaw in a tight, bruising grip as the other held your hands beneath your back. The force of his mouth against yours pushed you back two steps and you stumbled as you felt the hood of his car behind you.
Growling against your mouth, his chest knocked you backwards, forcing you to collapse onto the hood. You lay under him, your lips being punished by his as he sucked at your mouth, nibbled at your bottom lip and tried to gain entry into your mouth. A particularly hard nibble at your top lip forced your lips open as you tried to gasp for breath before he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, the lack of breath and the shock of his warm tongue ticking all over the inside of the warm cavern of your mouth, made you lightheaded. As he tried to pull your tongue into his wet mouth to suck it between his lips, a soft wail left you. He shuddered in response, his chest heaving as he moaned at your taste. His hand, which had been holding two of yours in a strong hold, left to run up your sides.
Shock froze you for half a second. Then your hand cracked sharply across his face. The sound echoed in the quiet night.
Jimin’s head turned slightly with the impact. Slowly, he looked back at you. Instead of anger, a strange satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
“You always did hit hard,” he murmured.
Your voice shook with fury. “You’re insane if you think that was acceptable.”
“I could get a psych evaluation, if you’d like.”
“And Kelly-” Your voice wobbled. He stared at the tears running down your face, his eyes softening at the guilt coating your voice.
“Kelly and I are done, princess.”
The words stopped you cold. “What?”
“I broke up with her.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
You stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jimin shrugged lightly, “She served her purpose.”
The casual cruelty in his tone made your stomach twist.
“You used her.”
“I needed a way back into your life.”
Your anger faltered briefly.
“What are you talking about?”
Jimin stepped closer again, his expression dark and unwavering.
“You think it’s a coincidence that I started dating your best friend?”
Realization crept slowly up your spine.
“That’s… that’s insane.”
“Is it?”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m really not.”
He leaned down slightly, his voice quiet but deadly certain.
“You left me, Y/N. Not once, twice. Do you have any idea what I felt back then? How I felt when the girl who was the center of my universe left me to start her life over without me? You’re so cruel, you have always been. And I am the fucking idiot who cannot get over you. Your name is threaded into my heart, it runs in my blood. No fucking power on Earth can take you away from me again, not your family and certainly not you. You don’t get to leave me again, you dont!” He shouted, shaking slightly as his manic eyes bored into yours.
“I spent years making sure the next time you walked back into my life, you wouldn’t be able to leave again.”
A week after the club incident, Park Jimin walked into your family home like he had always belonged there.
At that exact moment, you were upstairs in your bedroom, attempting to focus on a stack of notes that had remained untouched for the last twenty minutes. Your concentration had been terrible lately. Not surprising, considering the chaos of the previous week.
Kelly still hadn’t spoken to you properly. Guilt gnawed at you every time your friend declined your call and the feeling of shame held you in even deeper grip when you unconsciously found yourself caressing your lips as you thought about the bruising kiss. News outlets were buzzing about Park Yeoncheol’s sudden retirement and the equally sudden rise of his grandson as the party’s new face. Your father had spent several evenings in tense phone calls with advisors, strategists and donors.
Politics never slowed down in this house but today felt different. You heard the staff downstairs making a lot more noise than usual. The quiet but urgent shift in tone that always happened when an important guest arrived. Doors opening. Polite greetings. The sound of shoes against marble flooring in the main hall.
Then your father’s voice.
“Park Jimin.”
Your head lifted. For a moment you wondered if you had imagined it. But then you heard Jimin’s voice respond. Smooth, calm, unmistakably familiar as ever.
“Mr L/N.”
Your stomach dropped. You stood slowly, every instinct in your body suddenly alert. Curiosity got the better of you. The staircase overlooked the main sitting room below, separated only by a carved wooden railing that allowed sound to carry easily through the open space.
You moved quietly to the edge. Your father stood near the fireplace, posture formal but not unfriendly. And across from him was the man you had spent the last week thinking about, Jimin.
He looked completely comfortable standing in the middle of the home belonging to the man whose political career had spent decades opposing his own family.
“Your grandfather’s retirement came as a surprise” your father was saying.
Jimin inclined his head slightly.
“He believed the party needed someone younger to lead the next election cycle.”
“And that someone is you.”
“For now.”
There was a faint humility in the answer but you recognized it immediately for what it was. A performance. You scoffed.
Your father studied him carefully.
“You understand the history between our families.”
“Of course.”
“And yet you requested this meeting.”
Jimin’s hands rested loosely on top of his knees, posture casual despite the weight of the conversation.
“History doesn’t have to dictate the future.”
Then he said quietly, “You’re suggesting cooperation.”
“An alliance.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That word carried serious implications.
“Why?” your father asked.
Jimin smiled faintly.
“Because the alternative is continuing a political feud that wastes resources on both sides.”
“And you think my supporters would accept that?”
“With the right reasoning.”
Your father crossed his arms. “And what reasoning would that be?”
Jimin’s gaze flicked briefly toward the staircase. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you. But then his attention returned to your father.
“Mutual benefit,” he said calmly.
The conversation continued for another several minutes with talks of strategy, elections, voter blocs. Jimin spoke like someone who had been preparing for this conversation long before it ever happened. He wasn’t nervous or even particularly cautious.
Your father wasn’t dismissing him. If anything, he seemed… interested and was nodding along to many suggestions while making his own opinions known.
Finally your father sighed.
“You’re ambitious but that’s a good thing. I like it in young people such as yourself.”
Jimin chuckled softly.
Then your father said thoughtfully, “Political alliances are easier when families are connected.”
Your stomach tightened.
Jimin didn’t hesitate. “I agree.”
Something about the tone of that answer made your pulse jump.
Your father nodded slowly.
The meeting ended not long after that. Your father walked him toward the front door while continuing the conversation about scheduling future discussions.
You slipped away from the railing before either of them could notice you. But you didn’t go far. Instead you waited in the long hallway that connected the main entrance to the garden doors. You heard footsteps approaching. Then Jimin appeared around the corner.
He stopped the moment he saw you. For a second neither of you spoke.
Then his mouth curved slowly, “Look who’s eavesdropping.”
You crossed your arms.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”
Jimin didn’t look remotely bothered.
“It was a scheduled meeting.”
“You’re trying to manipulate my father.”
“I’m negotiating. It’s the nature of politics.”
“That’s not the same thing at all and you know it.”
He stepped closer.
“It is in politics.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“So that’s the plan?”
“What plan?”
“You insert yourself into my family’s political strategy and suddenly we’re all supposed to pretend the last twenty years didn’t happen?”
Jimin tilted his head slightly.
“Relax. I’m not here to destroy anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Jimin stepped closer again.
“You heard the conversation.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you’re trying to trap my father into a political alliance.”
He smiled slightly.
“Not just your father.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going along with that.”
Jimin’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
“I don’t need you to go along with it.”
“Then what exactly do you need?”
His voice lowered slightly.
“You. Always have and always will.”
Your pulse jumped. Jimin stepped into your space suddenly. In retaliation, you grabbed the front of his suit jacket and pulled him down into a kiss. It was just as angry as the one the week before. You poured weeks of frustration and tension into his mouth. Jimin’s hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as the kiss deepened into something rougher.
When you finally shoved him back, both of you were breathing harder.
“You’re still a manipulative bastard,” you said.
Jimin wiped his lip slowly, eyes dark with quiet satisfaction.
“And you’re still terrible at pretending you hate me.”
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 23rd Chapter, with Chapter 24 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
You spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of a heavy, cotton-thick sleep. It never felt like real rest, more like your mind kept sinking into a swamp and clawing its way up again without ever reaching the surface. Every time your eyes cracked open, the room looked a little different as though someone had nudged the world an inch to the left.
Sometimes it was a nurse standing beside you, tapping at the IV line or murmuring something about antibiotics. Sometimes it was your father with his reading glasses perched low, pretending to read the newspaper while glancing at you every ten seconds. Sometimes it was Mom sitting at the edge of the chair, knees bouncing.
But most often it was Taehyung.
Always in that same chair, posture relaxed like he’d been grown from the plastic frame itself. He never looked tired. He never looked bored. As if the hospital’s stiff white light had been designed just for him.
You weren’t awake long enough each time to piece anything together. You only remember flashes- the warm weight of a blanket being pulled higher over you, his voice telling someone that you were still in pain, your mother tucking your hair behind your ear, Taehyung’s silhouette leaning forward just slightly as if listening for the change in your breathing.
Then came the food. The first two meals were the standard hospital smears with overboiled vegetables, rice with no smell, soup that tasted like the memory of chicken more than actual chicken. You couldn’t even finish them. Your tongue was too heavy, your jaw felt too slow. You pushed the trays away, grimacing and Taehyung watched silently, eyes narrowed the tiniest bit as though cataloguing each expression.
By the time the third meal arrived, you were too tired to even dread it. You blinked blearily at the tray being lowered onto the table beside you. You didn’t notice any difference at first. Everything looked too bright and too blurry.
“Try to eat” someone-maybe your mother?-said softly.
But when the lid lifted, something shifted in your foggy brain. The smell hit first. Warm, subtle, nothing like the usual metallic hospital scent. The soup was still plain-looking but the aroma was deeper- ginger, maybe something herbal, something comforting. Not complicated but thoughtful. You blinked again, trying to focus. Your vision doubled for a moment before sliding back into place.
You picked up the spoon sluggishly. Even the movement felt like wading through water.
The first sip surprised you so much you paused mid-blink. It was mild, yes…. but rich and balanced. It soothed your throat in a way the earlier one hadn't. You frowned slightly, trying to understand why it tasted like someone had made it on purpose, not in bulk.
You heard movement to your right but your neck refused to turn. Someone was there. Someone watching.
You went for the fruit bowl next. You didn’t even remember agreeing to it. Your fingers felt clumsy around the fork but you managed to spear a piece of something orange, something you didn’t recognize. Not papaya. Not mango, this was juicier
.
When you bit into it, sweetness burst on your tongue so suddenly you sucked in a small, surprised breath.
“What…?” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the room. Or maybe not to anyone at all. The medication made your thoughts slur inward like half-melted wax.
You tried another piece, something pale green, crisp but melting. You frowned again, brow wrinkling. These weren’t fruits hospitals normally stocked. They weren’t even fruits your mother brought home. Too fresh and exotic.
You blinked slowly, trying to clear the haze. The IV tugged unpleasantly against your skin.
When your gaze finally shifted, you saw Taehyung. Sitting exactly where he always was, elbow on the armrest, chin tilted slightly as he watched you eat with the kind of focus people reserved for documentaries or rare celestial events. His expression was unreadable, something blank over something intense.
You parted your lips to ask something, anything, but the words muddled together in your head. So instead, you went back to the fruit because chewing felt easier than speaking. The flavors were vivid, too vivid, cutting through the fog only to deepen it again.
Had he done this? You couldn’t tell. The room felt too soft around the edges, too dreamlike. The ticking clock sounded far away, your pulse too loud and Taehyung’s presence too close. Everything was too much and not enough at the same time.
You ate another spoonful of soup, warm spreading down to your stomach like a slow glow.
You didn’t realize he was smiling, not fully, not a real smile, just the ghost of satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth until your eyes fluttered open again after another brief drift into sleep.
Or maybe you imagined that too. The medicine made everything slippery.
You let your head sink back into the pillow, too tired to keep trying to understand anything.
Your mother had been watching Taehyung for a while now, watching the way he hovered near your bed, always standing too close, always alert, always ready to leap forward at the slightest movement you made.
At first she thought it was sweet. Then she started noticing things.
How he answered nurses’ questions before she could. How he adjusted your blankets with a familiarity he wasn’t entitled to. How he always seemed to know when you were about to wake up, appearing at your bedside before your eyes even fully opened.
Your mother stood, checking the flowers on the side table, fresh, expensive, different from the ones earlier. Lilies, orchids, roses in pale colors she’d never seen in the hospital gift shop. There was a new bouquet every few hours, now that she thought about it.
Another florist. Another handwritten card in Taehyung’s smooth, neat script.
“Oh…. more?” your mother said, not quite annoyance, not quite confusion. “You didn’t have to. These must have cost so much, son.”
Taehyung gave a soft smile. “They make the room feel livelier. She shouldn't wake up to plain walls.”
Your father’s brow twitched.
So finally, after another round of hospital food and another hour of Taehyung’s silent, unwavering presence, your mother cleared her throat.
“Taehyung, you’ve been here for days” she said gently. “Why don’t you go home tonight? Get some proper rest.”
He didn’t turn to her immediately. He looked at you first with a slow, searching sweep of his eyes over your face like he wanted to make sure you were hearing this. Only then did he speak.
“I don’t need to go home” he said simply.
Your mother blinked. “But you’ve barely had any sleep. And your family must be worried-”
“They’re not” he cut in, still calm but with an undertone that made the air shift. “There’s nothing to worry about there.”
The way he said it, too flat, too absolute made your father look up from the hospital couch where he’d been reading.
“Well” your dad said, trying to sound casual but firm, “regardless, you should take care of yourself too. You’ve helped enough. We’re really grateful but you should get back to your routine. Your classes, your own life-”
Taehyung finally looked at him. And for a moment, it felt like the entire room stilled.
“I’m staying, Uncle” he said. It was not aggressive. Not loud. Unmoving. Like a wall had been placed in the center of the room.
Your father’s brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re not telling you to disappear. Just go home for one night. We’re here with her.”
Taehyung’s jaw flexed.
“I’m here” he replied quietly. “That’s enough.”
There was something in his tone that made both your parents pause. A subtle flicker of unease passed between them. Because suddenly, the balance of the room felt wrong. Like Taehyung wasn’t just a concerned friend sitting by your bedside but someone staking a claim without permission. Someone who didn’t recognize boundaries. Someone who wasn’t planning to leave.
Your mother folded her arms. Your father leaned back slowly. And their eyes, which had once held nothing but gratitude toward him, now carried the first hints of discomfort. A quiet, nagging sense that something here didn’t quite add up.
Taehyung exhales, long and shaky and something in him softens. As if he suddenly remembers how he’s supposed to act. He looks down at his hands then back up with a small, apologetic smile. The kind that disarms people before they realize he’s doing it.
“I’m sorry” he says, voice gentler, almost fragile. “I didn’t mean to sound….disrespectful. I swear I didn’t.”

Your mother’s shoulders ease a little. Your father straightens but doesn’t speak.
Taehyung takes one small step back like he’s giving space and he’s correcting himself.
“I just-” His voice cracks slightly. “Last night scared me. I didn’t know if she’d….” He swallows, lowering his gaze. “I’ve never seen something like that before. I guess I’m still shaken by it.”
Your mother’s expression softens instantly. He’s good. Dangerously good.
Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, sighs and gives a small, self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just worried.”
Your father exchanges a look with your mother, hesitation giving way to sympathy. Just like that.
When Taehyung looks up again, his eyes are glossy with exhaustion. Red-rimmed. Human. And he plays it perfectly.
“Honestly, Uncle… Auntie…” His voice drops to something vulnerable, something painfully earnest. “I wasn’t trying to intrude. I just didn’t want her to wake up alone. I thought it’d be scary to open her eyes and not see anyone. That’s all.”
Your mother’s face softens completely. She even places a hand on her chest, touched. “Oh sweetheart” she murmurs. “That’s very kind of you.”
Your father, who had bristled moments earlier, exhales slowly. He nods, the tension draining from his posture.
“I understand” he admits. “Thank you. For bringing her here. For staying.”
Taehyung smiles small, humble, relieved and bows his head slightly. “It was the right thing to do.”
Your mother touches his arm. “But truly, you need rest. Go home, clean up, eat something warm. You’ve done enough.”
Taehyung laughs lightly in a self-deprecating way. “I’m okay, Auntie. Really. I can go to class later but I didn’t want to leave without knowing she would wake up. Besides, I know that Uncle has to go to work and I didn’t want you to be here alone, Aunty.”
Your father gives him a grateful smile. “That’s admirable, son.”
You’re propped up on two pillows, still feeling as though your skull has been stuffed with wet cotton. Your parents are going through the discharge checklist the nurse left on the bedside table when a knock sounds on the door.
A man pokes his head inside. Instantly, something about him feels wrong. He smiles too widely. His eyes flick across the room in quick darting motions, assessing, calculating. Even from your bed you can tell he’s the kind of man who thrives on paperwork that ruins people’s days.
He steps in fully. Slick hair. Shiny shoes. A file clutched too tightly under an armpit damp with sweat. And a cheap, too-strong cologne that hits your nose like a chemical weapon.
“Good morning, good morning!” he chirps, voice sugar-dipped but oily underneath. “I’m from FirstCare Life Insurance, here to discuss the formalities for Miss Y/N’s discharge. How are we feeling today, young lady?”
Your mother instantly steps closer to your bed, protective instinct flaring. “We’re doing alright” she says politely. “Please, come in.”
He grins, showing a row of small, yellowish teeth. “So glad to hear, ma’am. So glad. Recovery is such a blessing, isn’t it?” His voice drips with syrupy false concern. “And what a relief that your family has insurance! These big hospitals, oh, the bills can get so terrifying, you know?” He laughs a thin, dry laugh that makes the hairs on your arms rise.
Your father nods stiffly. He already looks annoyed, he hates people who oversell.
The man opens his file with a flourish, papers crackling. “So! We had a quick review of the charges so far” His eyes flick toward you, then your parents, then back to the file. “And before we go ahead with the claim, I just wanted to clarify a few small details.”
Your mother tenses. “Details?”
“Oh, nothing major” he says, smiling too fast. “Just routine. Very routine. I’m sure it’ll all go smoothly.”
He says “smoothly” in a way that guarantees it won’t. He pulls out a printed sheet and taps it with a pen. Your father leans in. You feel a strange sense of dread settle low in your stomach.
The agent clears his throat, theatrically.
“So, according to your files…. there seems to be a slight discrepancy regarding the accident report.”
He says the word 'discrepancy’ with too much pleasure.
Your mother frowns. “What discrepancy?”
He shakes his head sympathetically, placing a hand on his chest - a gesture so fake it almost squeaks.
“It looks like the insurance company is having a little difficulty processing the claim as it currently stands. The circumstances of the accident….” he leans forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice though there’s no one else in the room “...don’t exactly match the terms of your policy.”
Your father’s expression darkens. “What does that mean?”
The man gives a sorry smile, a practiced one, one he’s probably used on thousands of stressed families.
“It means…” He flips the paper and shows them a massive sum - your growing bill. “your insurance might not be able to cover the full amount. Possibly not at all.”
Your mother’s hand flies to her mouth. Your father stiffens beside her.
And in that moment, as the oily man pretends to be sad for you while delivering devastating news, you see a small shift in the corner of the room.
Taehyung, sitting quietly on the visitor’s couch, slowly lifts his head. His eyes sharpen.
The insurance agent finishes his explanation with a slick smile, flipping his tablet shut.
“I’m afraid your policy doesn’t cover this type of accident under the stated circumstances” he says in a syrupy, apologetic tone that feels memorized. “But don’t stress. We might be able to push it through with some, hm, additional processing support.”
Your mother is already paling. Your father stiffens. “Processing support?” he asks slowly.
The agent shrugs with practiced helplessness. “Administrative fees. Priority review fees. You know how these things go.” His smile sharpens. “It won’t be cheap.”
Your mother grips the side of your bed. Your father’s voice goes tight. “How much?”
The man waves his hand vaguely. “Hard to say yet. Could be several thousand. Maybe more. Depends on what the insurer decides.”
Your mother whispers, “Oh God”. Your father clenches his jaw.
“And of course,” the agent continues, “the remaining hospital costs will need to be settled before discharge. But don’t panic!” He chuckles. “We can talk about partial payments once the paperwork comes through.”
You feel sick. Your parents look like someone just pulled the floor out from under them.
The agent shuts his tablet and gives you a bright, false smile. “You get some rest, alright? I’ll check in later.”
He steps out, closing the door with a soft click. Silence swallows the room.
Then your mother sinks into the chair, pressing both hands over her mouth. Your father rubs his forehead, pacing a short, frustrated line near the window.
“Why now?” he mutters. “Why deny it now? We’ve paid premiums for years. They can’t do this.”
Your mother’s voice is thin, fraying. “We’ll figure something out. We always do. Loans, maybe a payment plan.” She looks at you, her eyes already shining. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ll manage.”
But you do worry. You always do. Your parents are spiraling, your mother whispering half formed plans, your father scrolling through his phone like he’s trying to outrun reality.
And through the haze of medication, you feel your heartbeat spike. Taehyung rises from the chair in the corner. His expression unreadable, eyes steady in a way that cuts through your fog.
Your parents don’t even notice him, they’re too absorbed in panic.
You watch in uneasy silence as he walks toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle. Looks over his shoulder at you, only you with a calm, frightening certainty.
Your throat tightens.
He steps out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
That evening, just as the sky outside the window deepens into a muted violet, the door opens again.
The insurance agent slips inside. Gone is the oily confidence. Gone is the rehearsed smile.
He looks wrung out. His shirt is damp along the collar, his hands trembling where he clutches his tablet and his eyes avoid every corner of the room except the floor.
Your parents tense immediately.
“Ah- good evening,” he stammers, voice cracking in the middle. “I, I wanted to clarify something from earlier.”
Your father straightens. “Yes?”
The agent swallows. Hard. “I, um, misread the file. Completely my fault. Very embarrassing. The- the claim is, actually, uh, approved. Fully. Everything. Covered in full.”
Your mother gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. Your father blinks, stunned. “Covered?”
“Yes” the agent babbles.
“Completely. No fees, no deductions…. no delays. It’ll all be handled on priority. I’m really, truly sorry for the, the misunderstanding.”
He bows slightly too low for someone who works in corporate insurance and wipes his brow with a shaking hand. Your parents are confused but relief softens their posture immediately, exhaustion finally catching up to them.
“Oh thank god” your mother exhales, sinking into her chair in relief.
Your father nods, tired but grateful. “We appreciate the correction.”
But something feels off.
You notice the way the agent’s eyes flick just once, quick as a heartbeat toward the corner of the room. Toward Taehyung. Standing there silently, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed.
A single nod passes between them.
Your stomach drops.
Your father notices it too.
His eyes sharpen, following the silent exchange. A crease forms between his brows - the look of a man who just felt the ground shift under his feet.
The agent clears his throat again, eager to leave. “Right, well, I’ll process the final paperwork. Truly sorry again.”
He slips out of the room so quickly he might as well be fleeing.
Silence follows him.
Your father’s gaze drifts slowly toward Taehyung.
And then,
The hospital TV mounted on the wall flickers as the channel changes to a breaking news segment. A well-dressed anchor announces: “Minister Kim is expected to address the media tonight regarding-”
The camera cuts to a polished man stepping up to a podium, flanked by security.
You don’t even need to hear the name. The jawline. The eyes. The posture. The resemblance is unmissable.
Your father goes completely still.
The color drains from his face so fast it’s as if someone pulled the plug on his blood supply. His mouth parts. His eyes widen in dawning horror. Because now he understands.
Your “friend.” The boy in this room. The boy who brought you to the hospital. The boy who followed the insurance agent out.
He isn’t just anyone.
He’s Kim Taehyung, son of that man.
And your father finally realizes what kind of shadow has fallen over his daughter’s hospital bed.
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 15th Chapter, with Chapter 16 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
The venue was nothing like what you had imagined when your professor had casually mentioned a “book launch.” You’d thought perhaps a quiet gathering in the college auditorium, maybe a buffet table tucked to the side. But here was a chandelier glittered overhead, its crystals scattering light like fractured stars across the marble floor. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved with precision, balancing trays of wine glasses that clinked softly as the crowd shifted and murmured. Everywhere you looked, men and women dressed in sleek suits and gowns spoke in low, refined voices, their posture alone radiating authority.
You hugged your clutch tighter under your arm, suddenly all too aware of the faint perfume you had spritzed before leaving the house, wondering if it smelled childish compared to the expensive fragrances lingering in the air. Briefly, you wondered if professors really got paid this much. Either way, you and Jungkook, two college kids in formal wear, felt like imposters at a masquerade you hadn’t been invited to.
Jungkook must have sensed the stiffness in your shoulders because he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “So, do you think they’ll be serving anything other than tiny crackers with cheese?”
You blinked, startled, before a small laugh escaped you. He gave you a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the professor, but” he lowered his voice conspiratorially “I might be more excited about the food than the book.”
The absurdity of his honesty in such a polished, intimidating space made your nerves loosen. You shook your head, smile tugging at your lips and murmured, “Trust you to think with your stomach.”
“There you two are!”
You turned to see your professor striding toward you, his spectacles glinting under the golden light, the edges of his gray hair catching a polished sheen.
“You made it” he said warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he clapped Jungkook on the shoulder and patted your arm. “I was worried the setting might scare my students away.”
“We wouldn’t miss it, sir” Jungkook said politely.
Your professor’s gaze dipped briefly to the waiter behind him offering another round of wine glasses. He arched a brow at the two of you before chuckling. “Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain you’re not quite of drinking age yet.” His voice lowered with a teasing mock-seriousness. “And I’d rather not be the one to scandalize my own book launch.”
You let out a small laugh, cheeks heating when he waved the waiter over and requested two tall glasses filled with jewel-bright mocktails instead, the fizz catching the chandelier light.
“Here” he said, handing them to you both with the gravitas of someone bestowing awards. “Non-alcoholic but don’t let that fool you. The sugar rush will make you bolder in conversation than any champagne could.”
You clutched yours with both hands, grateful for something to hold and beamed at him. “Congratulations on the book, sir. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to it ever since you mentioned your research in class. I read your earlier work on urban learning structures twice over, it’s brilliant. The way you drew parallels between institutional failure and generational apathy-”
Your words tumbled out, eager and breathless but your professor only laughed, not unkindly. “Slow down, slow down, Y/N. If you flatter me too much, my publisher will expect me to sell double the copies tonight.”
You flushed, embarrassed but he patted your shoulder gently. “I’m glad to see such enthusiasm. Come, let me introduce you around. If you plan to make a career in academia, these are the people you’ll want to know.”
And just like that, you were swept into a current of introductions. Names you’d seen printed on journal covers shook your hand, smiles sharp and polite. Some were kind and engaging, answering your questions with a patience that carried a faint air of superiority, the benevolent condescension of those who had long since stopped remembering what it was like to be a student but who didn’t mind basking in the awe of one.
You were star-struck, your cheeks aching from smiling, heart racing as you shook hands with people whose footnotes you had studied religiously. You asked questions- perhaps too many- but they humored you, speaking of theories and frameworks as if they were telling bedtime stories.
Beside you, Jungkook stayed quiet, his mocktail in hand, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched you glow under the weight of your excitement. Every so often, you’d glance at him, expecting to see boredom or impatience but his eyes were patient. He was letting you have this moment.
You and Jungkook finally found your table tucked toward the back, far from the podium and the glittering cluster of senior academics. The small placards bearing your names felt almost comical in such a grand setting but you smiled anyway, running your finger over the neat black print as you settled into your chair.
“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” Jungkook murmured, dropping into the seat beside you. “No pressure. We can just sit back here, eat and enjoy the show.”
You laughed, leaning toward him as you lowered your voice. “Exactly. Honestly, I’m just glad they spelled my name right. Small victories.”
That set the two of you off, dissolving into an easy chatter about the people you’d met, the theories you’d overheard in passing and whether the appetizers carried past on silver trays were safe for students who couldn’t even legally sip the wine. Your nerves had softened into something bubbly, carried by Jungkook’s steady presence.
From across the room, your professor stood with a group of colleagues, his head tilted back in laughter at some academic joke you didn’t quite catch. But then, suddenly, his entire expression shifted, his features brightening, shoulders squaring. With a smile so wide it transformed his face, he excused himself and began moving quickly toward the double doors of the hall.
You and Jungkook turned instinctively, following his line of sight. And then you saw him.
Taehyung.
He filled the doorway like a scene ripped from another world- broad-shouldered in a white suit jacket, its fabric gleaming faintly under the chandelier light. The jacket hung open, exposing a black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to be indecent in such a formal setting, the dark sheen making the stark white pop all the more.
He hadn’t even stepped fully inside before the room responded, heads turning in small ripples, whispers skimming through the air like electricity.
The professor practically beamed as he reached him, spreading his arms wide. “Taehyung!”
He leaned in for a hearty embrace but Taehyung only tilted forward slightly, giving him the barest one-sided hug. His body remained taut, aloof, but his eyes, his eyes weren’t on the professor.
They found yours across the room. And held.
Your breath caught, heart thudding painfully as the chatter around you blurred into nothing. Those brown eyes, sharp under the fall of perfectly styled hair, locked onto you with laser focus. Not Jungkook, not the academics, not even the man practically worshipping his arrival existed in his line of sight.
Just you.
And in the opulence of chandeliers and polished marble, you felt stripped bare, as if he had walked into this grand room only to drag you back under his shadow.
You blinked hard, trying to steady your pulse. What is he doing here? For a split second you clung to a reasonable explanation. Maybe, like you and Jungkook, he’d been invited for some token academic gesture. But then the thought shriveled as quickly as it came. Taehyung didn’t need any academic lollipops to access rooms like this. He didn’t need a professor’s invitation to slip past gates or velvet ropes. He was the kind of man doors opened for automatically, his surname alone a passcode to privilege. And yet here he was, taking up space like he owned it.
The professor’s reaction only confirmed your worst instincts. You watched him practically beam, practically fawn, pressing a crystal flute of wine into Taehyung’s hand, the same wine he’d denied you and Jungkook with a polite joke about drinking ages. Without hesitation, the professor drew him straight to the center of the room, positioning him in a circle of dignitaries, scholars and donors.
It was like watching gravity bend. Conversations stilled. Eyes turned. And then Taehyung spoke with the polished cadence of someone born to wield charm like a blade. The dignitaries leaned in. They laughed at his dry remarks. He smiled, not too much, just enough.
And yet, even while holding court, his gaze slid back to you, flickering through the crowd like a searchlight until it found your face again. Your stomach dropped. You shrank into your chair, hands clasping your mocktail glass too tightly. Jungkook said something you barely heard. Because all you could feel was the prickle of awareness along your spine. That same weight. That same heat.
It didn’t feel like coincidence. It didn’t feel like chance. It felt like he was here for you.
The thought crept in before you could stop it: that he wasn’t just here to attend some academic soirée, he was here to irritate you. To press himself into another space you’d carved out to breathe. To make sure even here, amid marble floors and intellectual giants, you couldn’t forget that he existed.
And as his eyes lingered on you over the rim of his wineglass, a slow smirk playing at the edge of his mouth, the air around you thickened like smoke.
You felt stalked. Hemmed in. Like there was nowhere left to run.
You watched as the professor guided him toward the head table, the seat with his name placard right beside his own. It made sense. But Taehyung paused, leaning down to murmur something in the professor’s ear. Whatever it was earned an indulgent laugh, a clasp on the shoulder and then he turned.
Your breath caught as he sauntered straight past the front rows. Straight past the polished tables with their luminaries and chatter. Straight toward yours.
Jungkook stiffened beside you, shoulders squaring ever so slightly, knowing your history with him. You could feel his awareness of your sudden silence, your pulse in your throat, the nervous energy rippling off you.
And then Taehyung was there. Sliding into the chair directly opposite you.
He didn’t blend in. His white suit blazed against the muted navy and black around him, his jacket falling open carelessly, his posture sprawling with a kind of arrogance. Leaning back, elbows loose, shoulders wide, he took up space like it was owed to him. So much space, enough to make the little table suddenly feel claustrophobic.
He didn’t speak. His eyes fixed on you across the small round table, hot and unrelenting, his stare a weight pressing against your skin until you sat frozen.
Somewhere near the front, dignitaries turned to glance back, surprised at where he’d chosen to sit. He ignored them. He ignored everyone except you.
Your mocktail glass trembled slightly when you set it down. Your mind scrambled for a plan, an escape. You could leave, excuse yourself, disappear into the bathroom and never return. But your body stayed rooted in the chair, your nerves screaming at you like alarms.
Do something. Move. Get out.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because his eyes held you there like a trap like invisible chains pulling tighter the longer you stared back.
The soft murmur of cutlery and polite laughter around the hall fades into a low hum in your ears. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you like a blade pressed against the side of your neck. His expression doesn’t move but the intensity behind it feels alive, crawling under your skin. He hasn’t looked away once since sitting down, not even when the professor on stage mentioned his name.
Jungkook shifts beside you, the sound of his chair scraping faintly as he clears his throat.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice tight, polite but forced.
Taehyung’s eyes flick lazily to him, a smirk curving his mouth. “Same as you” he replies, his tone smooth and cold. “Came for the book launch.”
Jungkook says, jaw tightening. “You’re facing the wrong way.”
Taehyung’s smile widens but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans back, the light catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone as he says quietly, “I’m looking at what I came here for.”
You freeze. His words hang in the air, low and deliberate, each syllable making the silence between the three of you heavier.
Jungkook’s chair creaks again as he leans forward, trying to block Taehyung’s view of you. “You need to back off” he says, voice rising slightly. “She doesn’t want you here. You’re-”
“-talking too much,” Taehyung cuts in, still looking at you, not at him. His hand tightens around the wine glass so hard that the veins in his forearm stand out. The stem of the glass creaks faintly. “You really think I care what you think she wants?”
“Someone has to tell you” Jungkook snaps, “because you’re acting insane. Following her, turning up everywhere-”
Taehyung’s gaze finally moves to him, slow and predatory. His pupils are blown wide, the faintest flicker of a grin plays on his lips but there’s nothing human about it.
“Insane,” he repeats softly, tasting the word. “You know what’s insane? I wake up with her face in my head and I go to sleep hoping it fades. It never does. Waking up every morning and wondering if she’s smiling for someone else. Wondering if someone else is close enough to smell her hair. That’s insanity.” His knuckles whiten around the glass until a hairline crack snakes up the stem. “And you know what? I’ve learned to live with it.”
Jungkook stares at him like he’s seeing something dangerous and he is. “You need help, man” he says quietly but his voice wavers.
Taehyung laughs under his breath, a hollow, humorless sound. “Help?” He tilts his head, eyes glittering. “It’s the only thing that keeps me moving.”
“Watch your words” Jungkook said sharply, leaning forward now, voice low so as not to draw attention from the rest of the room. “She doesn’t need to hear whatever twisted thing you’re implying.”
Taehyung laughed under his breath “Twisted? You think I’m the one twisting things?”
He set his glass down, the soft click against the table unnervingly deliberate. “You really believe you can sit here like you’re her bodyguard and I’ll just, what, tolerate it?”
Jungkook didn’t flinch. “You don’t get a say in who she sits with.”
Taehyung doesnt stop. “Do you know how many people try to talk to her? And how many stop after one look at me? But you keep showing up, don’t you? Like you think you’re untouchable.”
He leans forward now, the motion slow, his smile dropping entirely. “Do you have any idea how easy it would be to make you disappear? You think I wouldn’t notice you hanging around her, talking to her, touching her hand like you have a right to? You’re nothing, Jungkook. You’re a background noise in her life. And I-” His breath catches, eyes flaring as they flick back to you. “I’m the one she can’t escape.”
A mangled sound of desperation and heart stopping fear slips out of you, your throat choked up with your anxiety about being caught in this nightmare. Jungkook looks at you, eyes softening despite the discomfort evident on his face.
“Don’t look at her like that. I’ll say it once, don’t look at her like that." Taehyung’s voice is at once both desperate and angry, his jaw clenched so tight, you thought you could almost hear his molars grinding against each other.
Jungkook’s hand brushed yours on the table, grounding you. “Leave her alone” he said warily. “You’ve done enough.”
Taehyung’s expression changed, not anger this time but something colder, like a storm had just passed through him and left steel behind. His eyes dropped to Jungkook’s hand resting protectively near yours and his nostrils flared once.
“Move your hand” he said quietly.
Jungkook didn’t. “Or what?”
Taehyung’s smile returns, sharp and terrifying. “If she wasn’t sitting right here-” he murmurs, voice trembling with restrained rage, “-and if I wasn’t wearing white, I swear on my dead mother, I’d have shot you right here.”
For a second, no one breathes. The stem of his wine glass finally gives, a sharp crack cutting through the silence. Red liquid seeps across the tablecloth, pooling near his fingers but Taehyung doesn’t even flinch. He just watches you, eyes burning, the vein at his temple throbbing wildly.
You grab your bag, standing abruptly, the scrape of your chair loud against the marble floor. The sound of your heartbeat drowned out everything else.
The corridor outside was too bright. Too open. Yet it felt like the walls were closing in on you. You barely made it to the end of the hallway before you pushed open the bathroom door and stumbled inside, gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself.
Your reflection stared back at you pale, wide-eyed, trembling. You barely recognized yourself.
You turned on the tap, letting cold water run over your wrists, trying to breathe but the image of him sitting there so casually, threatening murder like it was a casual remark wouldn’t leave your mind. Your temples throbbed, your head heavy and pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine.
You pressed your fingers to your forehead, whispering under your breath “Why can’t he just stop?”
You thought of all the time you’d lost because of him, the panic, the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance, the dread that seemed to shadow every ordinary moment. This was supposed to be a small victory, an academic event, a breath of normalcy but he had found you again. Like he always did.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out his voice echoing in your head. You felt trapped and not just in the bathroom, not just in the building but in something far bigger, something that had been tightening around you since the day you first stood up to him.
The image of Taehyung sitting across the table kept replaying in your mind. The way Jungkook had squared his shoulders even when his hands were trembling under the table. The way Taehyung had looked at him like deciding whether his existence was worth sparing.
A lump formed in your throat. Jungkook didn’t deserve that, any of it. He had only been kind to you, had only tried to help. But tonight, he’d seen the kind of danger Taehyung truly was and you hated that you’d dragged him into it. You gripped the edge of the sink tighter, whispering to yourself, “No more. I won’t let him get caught in this because of me.”
You nodded once at your reflection as if sealing the promise. Jungkook didn’t need to pay the price for something he never caused. You’d stay away, keep your head down, get your father to pick you up, quietly, without alerting anyone. If you were lucky, you could leave through one of the side gates and never see Taehyung again tonight. You straightened your dress with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe slowly. Just keep moving, you told yourself. Don’t make noise. Don’t attract attention. You reached for your phone in your clutch, fingers fumbling as you scrolled to your father’s number.
You were halfway through typing a message ‘Can you please come pick me up?’ when you heard it.
A sound. The distinct click of the bathroom door opening.
Your fingers froze on the screen. Your heart began to hammer violently against your ribs as you slowly lifted your eyes to the mirror.
A pair of polished black dress shoes stood just beyond the threshold.
The phone slipped from your hand, clattering against the porcelain sink.
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, the fic is complete and has been posted in its entirety on my Patreon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
You lie still, eyes trained on the narrow rectangle of sky framed by the hospital window. Outside, the world is dipping into evening, the sun sinking slowly, staining the clouds in soft oranges and diluted pinks as if beauty itself is bleeding out in slow motion. It should feel peaceful. It almost does. But instead it makes something inside you ache.
So much has changed in such a short span of time that your mind struggles to string the events together into anything that feels real. One moment you were navigating the fragile normalcy of college life, carrying your quiet hopes, your careful dreams, believing exhaustion was just another word for growing up. The next, you were thrown into a reality that smells of danger and tangles your mind in careful calculations just to live safely. It feels as if your life split cleanly in two - a before that now feels distant and naïve and an after that stretches endlessly in front of you like an uphill road you never agreed to climb.
You feel tired in a way sleep cannot fix. Not the kind of tired that settles in your muscles after a long day but the kind that seeps into your bones, into your will, into the quiet corners where your zeal for life once lived. That lightness you carried before college, the belief that tomorrow would naturally be kinder, feels like a memory borrowed from someone else. Now, a dark, shapeless cloud looms over your thoughts, heavy with the promise of things you don’t yet have the strength to name.
Your gaze drifts back to the sun. You feel an almost painful yearning for what it represents - warmth, ease, a gentle certainty that things will brighten again. You crave that metaphorical light with a desperation that surprises you. But the cruel irony is impossible to ignore: the very sun you’re watching is going down, slipping steadily out of sight and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Just like everything else. You are forced to watch, to endure, to wait in the gathering dark, too weak to chase the light, too aware now that some nights stretch far longer than they ever should.
It has been close to a week since you were brought into the hospital. In the beginning, wrapped in the haze of painkillers and sedatives, the world had felt distant and softened around the edges, unreal, as though you were moving through someone else’s life. In that drifting state, nothing seemed to carry full weight. Words dissolved as soon as they were spoken. Fear dulled at the edges. You could always slip back into sleep and escape the harshest parts of reality: your parents’ terrified faces, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the suffocating truth that the very anchors of your existence had been unwillingly pulled into your twisted game of cat and mouse with Taehyung.
Back then, consequences felt optional. Like everything could be postponed simply by closing your eyes. Now, the fog has thinned.
The cold white lights of the hospital no longer blur into softness. They are sharp. They keep you lucid in a way no completed course of medicines ever could. Each hour stretches with unbearable clarity. Each sound - the soft beep of machines, the squeak of shoes in the hallway, the quiet murmur of nurses - lands with precision on your senses. There is no drifting now. No easy escape. You are awake in every sense of the word.
And with that clarity comes the full, terrifying understanding of where you are not just physically, but in your life. Your leg bound and uncooperative. Your parents exhausted and strained. And somewhere, always somewhere too close, the presence of Taehyung lingering like a shadow you cannot shake, no matter how brightly the hospital lights burn.
A bitter little thought slips through the cracks of your exhaustion, sharp enough to almost make you laugh. Your birthday is only a few days away. You wonder, with a cruel sense of humor, whether it will be spent in a physiotherapist’s office instead of anywhere that resembles celebration, coaxing your leg to cooperate like a stubborn child. Balloons traded for parallel bars. Cake for antiseptic. It feels absurd enough to almost be funny.
The room is empty right now. Your father has gone to finalize the discharge papers, his last practical battle in a week full of quiet catastrophes. Your mother went home hours ago to prepare a spare room for you on the ground floor, rearranging the house around your injury the way she rearranges her life around you. Crutches don’t belong on staircases, she had said with forced lightness and you had nodded, swallowing the ache that her care always leaves behind.
And Taehyung…..You don’t want to think about what had happened. You let the thought stop right there, sealed off and unnamed like a door you are not ready to open.
Your gaze drifts back to the window. The sky has deepened into darker shades now, the oranges bleeding into violet. Visiting hours will end soon. The hallways will quiet down. Night will settle into the hospital the way it always does. You realize with a strange detachment that you are afraid of both day and night now. Day brings people, questions, watchful eyes. Night brings silence, and with it, your thoughts.
You think about college. About how unfinished everything feels. About assignments you haven’t touched, friendships paused mid-sentence, a life that seems to have slipped just out of reach while you lay confined to this bed. You think about how quickly everything tilted. You think about how fragile you suddenly feel, not just in bone but in circumstance.
And beneath all of it, pulsing like a low ache you can’t locate, is the knowledge that recovery will not end when your leg heals.
You press your fingers into the blanket, grounding yourself in the familiar texture. Right now, all you can do is wait. For your parents to return. For discharge. For answers you are both desperate for and terrified to receive.
The rhythm of your overthinking and panic is broken when the door to your room thuds open, the loud call of your name ripping you out of your stupor. A blur of Sam is all you manage to see before you feel a warm weight collide with you. The hug is clumsy and restrained, made awkward by your leg trapped in a thick cast and your arm tethered to the medicinal drip beside you. Still, despite the discomfort, the familiar comfort of your best friend wraps around you just the same, seeping into places that had been aching long before your body ever broke.
You feel her trembling against you, the quiet shake of sobs she refuses to voice. When she finally pulls back, that same brave smile finds its way onto her lips, as if by sheer habit—eyes slightly damp, betraying everything her expression tries to hide. She lets go gently and settles into the chair beside your bed, close enough for your warmth to still linger between you.
For a moment, all either of you can do is look at each other. Sam’s eyes move over your face with frantic precision, as if she’s trying to confirm with her own sight that you are real, alive, here. Worry pools thickly in her gaze, trembling at the edges. In yours, there is a fragile, aching happiness.
Her fingers reach out hesitantly, almost as if she’s afraid you might vanish at her touch. She brushes your hand, light and careful. “How are you?” she asks softly.
Your throat tightens but you manage a small smile. “I’m feeling much better now.”
It’s enough to make her exhale shakily, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. Then her brows knit again and her grip on your fingers tightens just a little. “What happened?” she asks.
So you tell her.
You recount everything the way it unfolded, haltingly at first, then in uneven bursts, the words tumbling out as the memories rise. Your voice shakes at certain points, falters at others. You don’t spare the fear, the confusion, the pain. As you speak, Sam’s face becomes a mirror of your story with shock widening her eyes, discomfort pulling at her lips, pain shadowing her expression as if she can feel every moment alongside you. At certain parts, she sucks in a sharp breath, at others her jaw tightens in helpless anger. More than once, her free hand flies to her mouth as if to keep herself from making a sound.
When you finally fall silent, drained, the room feels heavier than before. Sam doesn’t speak right away. Her eyes are glossy now and she blinks rapidly, trying to stay strong in front of you.
Before either of you can say more, the door opens again.
The doctor assigned to your floor steps in for the daily checkup, calm and brisk in her movements. Sam straightens immediately, attentive despite the turmoil still written on her face. The doctor checks your vitals, examines the cast, asks you a few routine questions, her voice steady and professional. Sam watches every movement with hawk-like focus, as if sheer vigilance could protect you from any further harm.
When the doctor begins explaining the next steps, Sam listens with almost fierce seriousness, how you must take it easy, avoid strain and above all, remain consistent with your physiotherapy sessions. She talks about the nerve damage in your leg, explaining that recovery will take time, patience and discipline.
Under that car, in those final moments before everything went dark, you had truly believed this was the end. Remembering that now sends a faint shiver through you.
When the doctor leaves, Sam finally lets out the breath she’s been holding. She looks at you again with something like awe and terror mixed together.
“You scared the hell out of me” she murmurs, her voice thick. “Do you have any idea how badly?”
You swallow, guilt and tenderness twisting together in your chest. “I’m sorry.”
She sniffles softly and shakes her head, brushing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Don’t say that. Just…. don’t do that again.”
A weak laugh escapes you both, brittle but real.
Sam watches you for a few seconds longer, the tension still clinging stubbornly to her shoulders. Then, as if making a conscious decision, she straightens suddenly and squints at you with exaggerated seriousness.
“You know,” she says, tilting her head “for someone with such catastrophic luck, I expected at least one consolation prize.”
You blink. “What kind of prize?”
“A young, heartbreakingly handsome doctor” she deadpans. “Not the middle-aged lady with the terrifyingly calm voice.”
A surprised laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “That’s your takeaway from this entire situation?”
“Absolutely” she says solemnly. “You nearly die and all you get is sensible shoes and a clipboard.”
You shake your head weakly. “I spent half my teenage years obsessively watching Grey’s Anatomy. This was supposed to be my dramatic hospital romance arc.”
Sam snorts. “Instead you got reality.”
“Reality is a scam” you mutter. “If McDreamy isn’t showing up, I want a refund.”
That earns you a real smile from her at last. Some of the heaviness in the room loosens. You shift against the pillows, the movement awkward with the cast but talking like this again about useless, ordinary things feels almost rebellious.
“You know,” you add after a moment, glancing around the room, “I have a very strange theory.”
Sam looks instantly wary. “I don’t like how that started.”
“I think this hospital is a staunch believer in women empowerment.”
She frowns. “What?”
“Every doctor I’ve seen. Every nurse. Every attendant. Even the woman who wheeled my food in” you say quietly. “All women.”
Sam opens her mouth to argue then stops. Her eyes drift, reconsidering. Slowly, she exhales. “Okay….”
“I feel like I wandered into a very selective ecosystem. Not that I am complaining.”
She lets out a short laugh but it fades quickly. “You always notice the weirdest things.”
“Only when I’m trapped in one place long enough” you reply.
Silence settles between you again, gentler than before but heavier underneath. Sam’s smile lingers a second too long this time. You catch it - the way her fingers twist in the fabric of her jeans, the way her eyes flick away and back.
“Sam” you say softly. “What is it?”
She hesitates.“I was going to tell you earlier but I just didn’t know how” she says.
Your stomach drops a little. “Tell me what?”
Her gaze lifts to yours. Steady. Uneasy.
“The person who brought me here today….”
Your breath slows. “Yes?”
She swallows. “It was him.”
A thin, cold line slides down your spine. “Who?”
“Taehyung.”
The word lands like a crack through glass. Your grip tightens in the blanket without you meaning to.
“He showed up outside my house” Sam continues quietly. “Said you were here. Said you’d want to see me. And then he brought me.”
Your heart begins to thud, slow and heavy, against your ribs.
Sam watches your face change, shock slipping into dread, disbelief tightening into something colder. “I didn’t know what to do” she murmurs. “I didn’t feel like I could refuse. And when he told me that you had been in an accident, I just didn’t want to. I wanted to come see you, so I did. I hope you’re not angry with me.”
You murmur a soft, “No, of course not”
The machines in the room keep up their soft, indifferent rhythm. The corridor outside hums with distant movement.
“He’s been here” you say quietly.
Sam blinks. “Here?”
“In the hospital,” you clarify. “With me.”
Her expression shifts instantly from confusion to disbelief. “When you say with you…..?”
“You mean the whole time?” she asks slowly.
You nod once.
Her mouth parts. For a moment, she looks genuinely at a loss for words. “The whole time?” she repeats, quieter now. “Since the accident?”
You nod again. Your fingers twist into the edge of the blanket. “He barely left. If he did, it was only for a little while. He was there when I woke up. He was there when they moved me.”
Sam exhales shakily and drags a hand down her face. “What did your parents even say to that?”
You let out a breath that sounds almost like a bitter laugh. “He won them over.”
Her brows knit together. “Won them over, how?”
You stare down at your hand as if the answer is written there. “By being helpful. He brought food. He talked to them. He stayed late. He handled things they were worried about before they even said it out loud.” Your voice takes on a dull edge.
Sam’s jaw tightens. She listens without interrupting, her gaze steady on you.
“They were thankful at first” you continue. “Then relieved and began to trust him.”
Sam’s eyes flicker with something dark. “That actually makes sense.”
You look up sharply. “How does that make sense?”
She hesitates, choosing her words. “Because he’s… convincing” she says at last. “In ways that don’t feel forced. It’s like he knows exactly what to show people.”
Your chest feels hollow. “He made them think that he was some angel who saved their daughter.”
Sam lets out a slow breath. “Yeah,” she mutters. “That sounds like him.”
You frown at her. “What do you mean?”
She looks away for a second then back at you. “The drive here” she says quietly. “With him.”
Your body stills.
“He came to pick me up” she continues. “I was angry. I was scared. I was ready to fight him the second I opened the door.” Her lips press together. “But that’s not what I got.”
You wait.
“He was calm” she says. “Quiet. Polite. He opened the car door for me. Asked if I was comfortable. Drove slowly.”
Your stomach churns.
“He didn’t talk much” Sam goes on. “But when he did, it was about you. About how fragile you were right now. About how worried your parents must be. About how you’d always been so careful.” She swallows. “It was like listening to someone who genuinely cared.”
Your hands feel cold.
“At one point I almost forgot why I hated him,” she admits. “Almost.”
You whisper “Almost.”
She nods. “That’s the scary part. If I hadn’t already known…. I would’ve thought he was just some overly concerned friend.”
Your chest tightens painfully. “He isn’t like that with me.”
“I know” Sam says softly. “That’s why it’s worse.”
Silence stretches again, thick and uneasy.
“He didn’t raise his voice even once” Sam adds. “Didn’t threaten me. Didn’t corner me.”
Your mind flashes to his bloodstained shirt. His trembling hands. His grip on yours.
“He smiled a lot” she says. “But it never reached his eyes.”
Your pulse picks up.
“And every time I asked a question about the accident” Sam continues “he redirected it. Back to you. To how brave you were. How stubborn. How special.”
Your throat tightens painfully.
“I didn’t feel safe” Sam finishes quietly. “But I also didn’t feel attacked. And that’s what terrified me the most.”
You stare at her, your thoughts racing.
“He can choose who he is” you murmur.
Sam nods once. “That’s exactly it. And with your parents, he chose to be perfect.”
You let out a short, humorless snort. “Well, his plan didn’t exactly work out” you say quietly. “At least not on Dad.”
Sam tilts her head. “Yeah? What happened?”
“At first,” you admit “Dad was begrudgingly grateful. He kept thanking him. Kept saying how indebted we were. He treated him like a guest you don’t really trust but still have to be polite to.” You pause “But after a while, he started getting really annoyed. Taehyung just wouldn’t leave. Day after day, the same face, the same presence.”
Sam’s brows pull together. “So Dad noticed.”
“I think he figured out who he is” you say softly. “For real.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Yeah? How did that go down?”
You swallow. “It was subtle. Dad didn’t say anything directly. But the change was immediate. One moment he was talking to him like a helpful stranger and the next, his whole posture shifted. His words more measured.” You shake your head faintly. “You know Dad. Working in a government office all these years has made him hyper-aware of who’s powerful and who’s not.”
Sam exhales. “Yeah. Didn’t Uncle always say neither friendship nor enmity should be created with people in politics?”
You nod. “Exactly. He’s always drilled that into us. Stay invisible. Stay neutral. Don’t draw attention.” Your lips twist. “The second he realized whose son Taehyung is, that instinct kicked in hard.”
“I can tell it rattled him. I’ve seen that look on his face before like he’s calculating every word before he speaks, afraid one wrong sentence could become a problem.”
Sam shivers. “And considering whose son he is, he’s not just some political cog.”
“No,” you murmur. “He’s not.”
She rubs her arms as if suddenly cold. “Thank God my parents didn’t see him outside our door.”
You glance at her. “You think they would’ve lost it?”
“They would’ve freaked out” she says immediately. “My dad would’ve shut the door in his face out of pure reflex. And my mom would’ve spent the next month terrified that we’d somehow offended him.” She gives a shaky laugh. “I don’t think they could handle the idea of that man’s son standing at our doorstep.”
A quiet heaviness settles between you.
“My dad didn’t even tell Mom directly who he was” you add after a moment.
Sam looks at you, worry etched deep into her face. “And you’re stuck right in the middle of it.”
Your chest tightens. “Yeah.”
For a while, neither of you speaks. The distant beeping of a monitor and the muffled sounds of the hospital fill the silence.
Sam finally says, very softly “You shouldn’t have to deal with politicians through a hospital bed.”
A bitter half-smile tugs at your lips. “Life hasn’t exactly been fair lately.”
She reaches out and squeezes your hand gently, careful of the IV. Her grip is warm and grounding.
“Whatever happens” she says quietly “you’re not alone in this. Okay?”
You nod, even as unease curls in your stomach, deeper now than before.
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 15th Chapter, with Chapter 16 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
The cigarette that he had been smoking burns to its last inch as he slides off the car with a slow, deliberate grace, boots hitting the ground with a sound that feels louder than it should. He doesn’t hurry. He doesn’t need to. Every step is calculated and every step makes the space between you smaller until the only thing you can see is him closing in. By the time you try to veer toward the side gate, he’s already there, blocking it like a tall, immovable wall of leather and black. The air feels too thick and you can hear the whispers around you.
“That’s her”
“She’s insane for even-”
“She’ll regret-”
But no one lingers. They all scatter, a ripple of avoidance parting the crowd until it’s just you, Sam at your side and Taehyung. The sharp scrape of rubber on concrete cuts through the silence as Taehyung crushes the cigarette under his boot. Smoke still curls faintly in the air when he finally speaks.
“Where’ve you been?” His voice is low, each word an unspoken accusation. “Haven’t seen you around all week.”
It’s not the question that stuns you, it’s the fact that he noticed and kept track. You blink, scrambling for an excuse but your mouth doesn’t move fast enough. He steps in, close enough for the faint scent of tobacco and clean cologne to reach you. Then, before you can recoil, his large palm is against your forehead.
“What, you sick or something?”
Your breath catches from the casual familiarity of his touch. Sam doesn’t give him a second longer. She grabs his wrist and yanks his hand off you with a sharp snap of motion.
“Don’t touch her” she spits.
Taehyung’s gaze slides to her, his expression slow to shift like he’s weighing whether to take offense or just enjoy the provocation.
“You might wanna start getting used to it” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“You should go somewhere far away” Sam fires back, her grip on your arm tightening.
His smirk is faint but lethal. “I’ll give you points for loyalty, but you’ll run out of energy eventually.”
Sam grabs your wrist and yanks, trying to pull you past him. His stance shifts instantly like he’d been expecting it, body tilting just enough to block every angle.
Your breath comes sharper now. “Move” you say, forcing your voice to stay even.
One brow lifts, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “On one condition.”
You hesitate. “What?”
“Dinner. Tonight.”
The single word presses into your chest like a weight. “I can’t” you answer quickly. “My parents don’t let me go out at night.”
His smirk doesn’t waver. “Then I’ll come to your place. We’ll eat there. Family dinner.”
Your stomach turns. “Are you insane?” Sam snaps, voice rising but he doesn’t even look at her.
“I can’t eat food from outside” you cut in, your words tumbling over each other in your hurry to shut him down. “I have… allergies.”
That earns a tilt of his head and he leans just close enough that you instinctively shift back. His gaze holds you like a trap. “Then I’ll hire a chef. Cook whatever you want. At your house.”
You swallow hard, pulse thrumming in your ears. “I don’t want to have dinner with you” you say finally, each word clipped and sharp. “There’s nothing for us to talk about. No reason for us to be spending time together.”
For the first time, the curve of his mouth falters. It’s quick, almost unnoticeable, but it lets you glimpse something colder beneath.
You and Sam push past Taehyung, clutching your bags, body gearing to run all the way home.
Relief barely has time to register before one of his hangers on, a wiry guy with a smug grin who’s always lurking at Taehyung’s shoulder steps into your path. His voice is sharp and dripping with mockery.
“Wow. You’ve really gotten a big head, haven’t you?” His eyes sweep over you in open disdain. “He’s giving you this much consideration and you’re acting like you’re doing him a favor.”
Sam bristles instantly but he barrels on, his tone turning venomous. “You’re only this bold because he’s being nice. If he wanted, he could’ve just taken you. No questions, no permission. You think you’d have a choice? Stay in your limits, sweetheart.”
Your stomach twists, every muscle in your body screaming to get away. Your head spins at being in a situation that you had never in a hundred years imagined. On one hand, you feel aggravated. Were you obligated to suffer the company of a man who had nothing but created problems for you in the past few months just because he was suffering from a sudden bout of ‘consideration’? Sam’s hand is a vise on your wrist now, ready to drag you off but before either of you can move, a shadow falls over the crony.
No warning. No build-up. Just a sharp grab to the collar and a yank forward hard enough to choke the breath out of him.
“What the hell did you just say to her?” Taehyung’s voice was low which made everyone within earshot go still.
“Taehyung, relax, I’m just-”
Thud. His back hit the wall so hard it rattled the glass panes nearby.
“That sound like a joke to you?” Taehyung stepped in close, eyes locked on him.
The crony tried to smirk but it faltered. “I’m just looking out for you. She’s getting-”
The crack of knuckles against his jaw cut him off. Blood spotted his teeth before he could even flinch. This wasn’t just some lackey. This was one of Taehyung’s regulars. The one who laughed at all his jokes, shadowed him everywhere which made the next blow, straight to the ribs, land with a heavier, more shocking weight.
“Looking out for me?” Taehyung’s voice was quiet but there was no softness in it. “You cut her off. You talked down to her. You think that’s helping?”
“She’s walking all over you” the crony spat, wiping his mouth. “You’re bending over backward for her. I was reminding her-”
Taehyung shoved him into the wall again, forearm pressing hard into his chest. “You don’t remind her of anything. You don’t block her way. You don’t breathe in her direction unless I say so. You understand me?”
The crony’s pride kept him standing but his voice had a slight hitch. “She doesn’t even-”
Another punch, this one to the gut, doubled him over. Taehyung caught him by the back of the neck before he could drop.
“You’re done talking.” His tone was final, the kind of cold that made it clear there’d be no second warning.
The crew stood in stunned silence. No one moved. They’d seen Taehyung blow up at enemies before and verbally with threats but never at his own and definitely not with violence, atleast not on campus. His threats were usually enough. He seldom got his hands dirty.
The words had barely left his mouth before Taehyung drove his knee into the man’s stomach. The crony folded with a strangled grunt but Taehyung didn’t let him drop, he yanked him back up by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall again, the impact making a hollow, ugly sound.
“You think you can run your mouth at her?” His voice was razor-sharp, each syllable vibrating with anger. “You think I’m going to stand here and let you breathe the same air as her after that?”
The man’s head snapped sideways as Taehyung’s fist connected again, splitting his lip wide. The crony tried to raise an arm to shield himself but Taehyung ripped it down and drove another punch into his ribs, the dull crack making a few of the other guys flinch. Blood hit the floor.
“Taehyung-” someone started but the look Taehyung threw over his shoulder and his bodyguards standing around him was enough to shut them up instantly.
He turned back, shoving the crony down to his knees. “Look at her” he demanded, jerking his chin toward you. “You so much as glance at her like that again, I’ll make sure you don’t walk away next time.”
Taehyung finally stopped, his chest heaving, knuckles split and red. He stared down at the man like he was something rotting on the sidewalk.
“Get out of my sight,” he said, dangerous and final.
No one moved to help the crony up. He staggered to his feet on his own, holding his side, and limped away under the watch of every silent, wide-eyed crew member.
The air felt heavier when Taehyung finally looked at you again. And just like that, the fury was gone.
His shoulders eased, his breathing slowed and his face softened in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t warmth. It was that wrong sort of gentleness, the kind that felt like a snake coiling loosely around your wrist.
“I’m sorry you had to see that” he said quietly, glancing at the blood on his hands as if only just noticing it. Then without missing a beat, he flicked his wrist to check the time. “It’s getting late. I’d like to drop you home.”
Your stomach turned. Not from the violence itself though that alone was enough to make your pulse race but from the whiplash. Seconds ago, he’d been breaking bones without blinking and now he was speaking to you like the two of you had just finished coffee.That instability terrified you. You didn’t know when it would snap toward you. When you would be the one he slammed into a wall, the one he spat venom at. And the thought that he might do it with the same calm detachment he was showing now made your blood run cold.
You realized you were staring, frozen, dazed, your eyes wide while his dark ones locked on yours, searching for something you didn’t want him to find.
You broke the stare first.
Turning sharply, you walked away as quickly as you could without breaking into a run. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your back and the others’ too. The whole scene had been a performance and you had been the unwilling centerpiece.
But his stare was the one that followed you, burning between your shoulder blades long after you’d disappeared from sight.
The politician’s office was a study in power, not comfort. Heavy mahogany furniture dominated the room with a desk wide enough to hold an army of files, polished to a dark sheen that reflected the harsh overhead light. The scent of aged leather from the high-backed chairs mixed faintly with the sharp tang of cigar smoke, the air thick as if it carried the weight of decades of deals, threats and secrets.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls but the books themselves looked barely touched, their leather spines more decoration than resource. Interspersed among them were framed photographs of handshakes with dignitaries, ribbon cuttings, campaign rallies with smiling crowds. Each image was a carefully curated reminder of influence.
The curtains were drawn, shutting out the city beyond. A single strip of light from a half-closed blind cut across the desk like a blade, casting long shadows that stretched to the far corners of the room. At one end of the office, near the wall, stood a glass display case not for trophies but for gifts from foreign diplomats including engraved pens, ceremonial daggers, a clock that ticked too slowly. They were status symbols more than keepsakes.
The very aura of the space was the kind that demanded attention, the kind that made anyone entering immediately aware that this was not a place for mistakes. Even without seeing him, the room itself carried the presence of the man who ran it, cold, calculating and utterly untouchable.
Mr. Taejoon Kim was the kind of man whose name carried weight in every political corridor of the country. For over three decades, he had been a fixture in the upper echelons of government, moving between ministerial portfolios with the fluidity of someone who didn’t just survive in politics, he thrived in it. Education. Infrastructure. Commerce. Culture. Each role had been another rung in a ladder he climbed without falter, each leaving behind policies and reforms that bore his signature precision.
His career was more than personal ambition, it was the continuation of a legacy. The Kim family had been entrenched in national politics for generations, their dynasty rooted in post-war governance, cultivated through strategic marriages, elite schooling and an unspoken understanding that leadership was not an opportunity but a birthright.
Taejoon himself had been groomed for public life since boyhood. Educated in the country’s most exclusive preparatory schools then polished in an Ivy League university overseas, he returned home fluent in both the language of the people and the dialect of power. His speeches could rouse a crowd as easily as they could dismantle an opponent in a televised debate.
Impeccably dressed, always in tailored suits that seemed to fit like a second skin, his appearance was as calculated as his political moves. Salt-and-pepper hair, immaculately combed, a posture that radiated quiet authority, a gaze sharp enough to make even senior bureaucrats straighten their backs.
Behind the public image of a progressive reformer lay a man who understood the darker mechanics of power, intimidation, leverage and the art of making opponents vanish from relevance without leaving fingerprints. It was this combination of statesmanlike charm and ruthless control that kept his name untarnished through decades of shifting political tides.
The heavy mahogany doors to Taejoon Kim’s office opened just enough for a tall, broad-shouldered man to step inside. Mr. Han who was Taejoon’s right-hand man, confidant and fixer, moved with the quiet assurance of someone who had spent his entire adult life in the orbit of power. His loyalty to the Kim family went back decades, starting as Taejoon’s aide during his first term in parliament. Over the years, he’d become more than an aide, he was a trusted executor, a shadow that moved where Taejoon’s polished image could not.
Under Taejoon’s direction, Han had overseen not just the family’s political maneuverings but also the upbringing of the minister’s only son. He’d been there when Taehyung learned to ride a bike, when he was sent to boarding school, when his temper first began to draw notice.
Now, Han crossed the thick Persian rug and stopped before the minister’s desk, holding out a sleek, buzzing phone. “Dean Park, sir” Han said in his deep, even voice.
Taejoon looked up from a stack of briefing papers, his expression unreadable. “Put him on.”
Han pressed a button, switching the call to speaker.
“Minister Kim! An honor, always” the dean’s voice oozed through the speaker deferentially, “I hope I’m not disturbing your evening?”
“Dean Park” Taejoon said pleasantly though there was a subtle chill beneath the civility, “if you were disturbing my evening, we wouldn’t be speaking right now. What is it?”
“Well, ah- I just thought it best you hear directly from me rather than through less polite channels. There was a small incident today at the university. Your son, Taehyung, well, there was a disagreement with another student. Unfortunately, it…. escalated.”
Taejoon’s fingers tapped once against the desk, a habit Han recognized as the minister’s version of narrowing his eyes. “Escalated?”
“A minor misunderstanding. But, ah, the other student’s parents are on the college’s advisory board so a disciplinary committee was convened almost immediately. But-of course I’ve taken care of it. These things are better handled quietly.”
Taejoon leaned back in his leather chair, voice smooth but glacial. “You’ve taken care of it” he repeated, as if tasting the words. “That’s considerate.”
“Oh, of course, Minister! I assure you, there will be no record, no further inquiries. Boys will be boys after all. It would be such a shame for a moment’s heat to tarnish the reputation of such a promising young man.”
“Dean Park,” Taejoon said softly, his tone the kind that could have been mistaken for warmth by anyone who didn’t know him, “you’ve been most helpful.”
The call ended with a polite farewell and Taejoon set the phone down on the desk, his expression shifting to something far sharper now that the sycophantic dean was done talking. His gaze lifted slowly to Han, sharp and unwavering.
“Explain” he said.
Han clasped his hands behind his back. “From what I gathered, Minister, another student provoked him. Ran his mouth where he shouldn’t have. Young master Taehyung lost his temper. That is all.”
Taejoon’s face betrayed nothing. Then with a dismissive wave of his hand he leaned forward, turning back to the stack of briefing papers waiting on his desk.
“Children quarrel” he said coolly, scanning a page. “One day, the same mouths will beg him for favors.”
Han inclined his head slightly, as though in agreement and took a half-step toward the door. His footsteps made no sound on the thick rug but just as he reached for the polished brass handle, he hesitated. The pause did not escape Taejoon. He did not look up immediately. He finished signing his name in his perfectly measured handwriting before setting down the pen. Then his voice cut through the stillness.
“Han.”
The right-hand man froze.
“If something is on your mind” Taejoon continued, his tone deceptively calm, “say it now. Because if I am forced to discover it myself….” He finally raised his eyes, fixing Han in place “it will be good for no one.”
Han’s throat felt dry. He shifted his weight, torn between duty to his young master and his lifelong loyalty to the man seated behind the desk. To speak would be, in some sense, a betrayal but to stay silent could be far worse.
“Minister” Han began “There is..something you should know. About the boy.”
Taejoon’s brows lifted a fraction, though his pen remained poised above the page. “Go on.”
Han drew in a quiet breath, choosing each word with the precision of a surgeon. “Lately, wherever one particular girl goes, Taehyung follows. He orbits her. Like a shadow. Today’s altercation.. it was because of her. One of the boys spoke poorly in front of her. That is why Taehyung reacted as he did.”
The pen touched paper again but Taejoon did not write. Slowly, he set it down. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something sharp breaking through his carefully constructed mask.
“A girl” he repeated flatly. “You’re telling me that this spectacle I had to hear about from a dean, of all people, was over a girl.”
Han lowered his gaze. “Yes, Minister. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him behave this way. It is consuming him.”
For the first time in years, genuine surprise cut across Taejoon’s features. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, as though weighing the information against a lifetime of precedent. His son had never been discreet but never reckless like this. Girls had come and gone, faceless and nameless, all handled before they could even think of leaving whispers behind. None had ever merited his attention, let alone become a cause for fights.
His voice carried a thread of steel. “Find out who she is. Everything. Family, history, weakness, ambition, leave nothing unseen. And Han..” His eyes sharpened, a glint of warning in the measured calm.
“Keep a closer watch on Taehyung.”
Han bowed his head, the pit in his stomach deepening. “Understood, Minister.”
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
WARNINGS : Mature language, Obsessive behaviour, Yandere behaviour, Threats of Violence, Feeling of claustrophobia. Folks, this one contains a serious accident near the end of the chapter. Please take care of yourselves.
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 15th Chapter, with Chapter 16 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
The washroom felt like another world being as it was cold, hushed, detached from the chatter and music outside. The light was a faint, sterile blue, humming quietly from the overhead fixtures. White tiles stretched across the walls and floor so that every movement cast a ripple of light on the surfaces. The faint scent of soap and disinfectant lingered in the air.
You stood at the sink, the steady drip of the faucet echoing unnaturally loud, the only sound in the otherwise smothering quiet. The noise from the launch laughter had dulled to a muffled, distant hum like the world outside had been locked away behind glass. You could almost believe you were alone.
Until the door creaked open.
The sound sliced through the quiet like a knife. You froze, staring at your reflection, the bluish light throwing hollows under your eyes. Then a soft click of polished shoes on tile.
A long pause. Then the door shut with a dull, final thud.
The sound reverberated through the tiled room, sealing you inside with it.
You keep your eyes fixed on the mirror, too afraid, too unsure, to turn around. The reflection does the work for you.
From the gleaming black shoes, your gaze drifts upward- the clean line of white dress pants catching the faint blue light, the subtle movement of tense thigh muscles under fine fabric. His shoulders are broad, the fit of his jacket now missing, just the dark shirt stretched across his frame, the top few buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of skin and a silver chain glinting at his collarbone. The faint rise and fall of his chest betrays his unsteady breathing.
He looks different. Not like the smug, unflappable Taehyung who had taken over the entire room outside just minutes ago. Here, under the cold washroom lights, he looks stripped raw. His hair, usually perfect, like every strand had been placed there on purpose, now looked slightly disheveled like he’d dragged his fingers through it too many times. The tension in his jaw moved like clockwork, muscle ticking under the skin every few seconds as if he were chewing down something he didn’t want to say.
His hands, usually so steady, restless. One hung by his side, fingers curling and uncurling. The other brushed his thigh once, twice, as if trying to find grounding, rubbing invisible creases from his pants. He wasn’t fidgeting out of weakness, it was more like a body too full of static, of heat, of conflicting impulses that couldn’t find release.
When your eyes finally met in the mirror, you saw the look in his. Not the fire that had scared you at the table. Not even the hunger that made your skin crawl. It was something stranger, more volatile- a mixture of shame and longing. As if being here, in front of you, both humbled and tormented him.
Something in your chest snaps. You spin around too quickly, your heel skidding on the damp tile, hand shooting out to steady yourself against the counter. The stumble only fuels your anger.
“Why are you here?” The words tear out of you before you can breathe. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
Taehyung’s head jerks up. His lips part slightly like he’d rehearsed something but forgot it the moment your eyes met.
You take a step forward, pulse roaring in your ears. “What do you want from me, Taehyung?” Your voice trembles, threaded with disbelief.
“Do you actually expect me to believe that after everything you’ve done, we’d just- what? Start over? Pretend none of it happened? Date?”
The harsh fluorescent light flickers overhead, catching on the tension in his face, the line of his cheekbones, the twitch in his fingers as he rubs his palms against his pants. He opens his mouth, shuts it again then exhales hard through his nose, the sound rough, almost bitten back.
His reflection looks ghostlike in the mirror behind you. The same sharp, beautiful face that once terrified you, now stripped of its armor. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds frayed at the edges.
“I know what I did can’t be undone” he says quietly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You think I don’t remember every single thing I said? Every look that scared you?” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I do. Every night.”
You grip the sink behind you, the cold porcelain grounding you as he takes a small, hesitant step closer.
“I’ll apologize a thousand times if that’s what it takes,” he goes on, the words tumbling out too fast, too rough. “To you, to Sam. Hell, I’ll write her a letter, I’ll get it printed in the college newsletter if that’s what you want.” His laugh is short, humorless. “You want a show? I’ll climb the damn roof of the college and scream my apology for everyone to hear. I’ll walk into the dean’s office myself and ask him to reprimand me.”
He takes another step forward. The distance between you feels like it’s humming, your heartbeat crashing in your ears.
“If that’s what it takes for you to look at me” he says, voice cracking slightly “then I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”
You stare at him, words lodged in your throat. The sound from the party outside feels like it’s a world away, muffled and irrelevant. His eyes are wild not just with guilt but with something deepe. You can’t tell if it’s regret or obsession that burns brighter. He looks like someone who’s been hollowed out and doesn’t know how to exist without you filling the space.
“Just” He draws a shaky breath, his voice dropping softer. “Just give me a chance to start over. That’s all I’m asking.”
You stare at him, your pulse still thudding in your throat. His words hang heavy in the bluish air of the washroom, too large to ignore, too desperate to believe. You swallow hard, the tension in your chest coiling tighter until it snaps.
“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “You hated me, Taehyung. You made my life hell.”
His head lifts sharply, eyes flaring at the word hate.
“You think I hated you?” he says, almost laughing, though it sounds more like a gasp. “Is that what you thought all this time?”
You take a step back as he moves closer, his reflection looming behind you in the mirror- tall, restless, intense. “What else was I supposed to think?” you snap, the words spilling out faster now. “You mocked me, you humiliated my friend, you-” your voice catches “-you scared me. You looked at me like I was something you wanted to crush just because I wouldn’t cower.”
Taehyung’s jaw tightens, his breathing ragged. “I didn’t hate you” he says finally and there’s something raw, almost broken, in the way he says it. “I hated how you made me feel.”
You blink, unsure you heard right. He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can see the fine tremor in his hands.
“I’ve been surrounded by noise my entire life” he says softly, his tone dipping into something quieter, darker. “Everyone talks to me like they’re waiting for a favor. Everyone pretends. But you…..” He exhales shakily, his eyes flicking between your reflection and your face. “You did something no one else has ever done. You made me feel small. Human. And I couldn’t handle it. So I lashed out. I wanted to destroy the thing that made me feel powerless.”
He runs a hand through his hair, voice rough. “But I couldn’t. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t hate you. I could humiliate you, scare you, threaten you but even then, I’d go home and” He trails off, the words catching in his throat. “I’d think about you. About how you didn’t flinch the way others did. How you were scared but still there. I’d think about your face when you were angry, how alive you looked. You think you were the one who had to undergo all that turmoil. Hah. I was fucking struggling for my life. Everytime I would stand face to face with you, I would feel as if you broke me whole and remade me new.”
Your heart feels like it’s being wrung in your chest. You take a step back but his gaze follows, unrelenting, reverent.
“I’m doing this” he murmurs, “because I can’t forget the way it felt to be seen by you, even for a second.”
You open your mouth to speak, to tell him to stop, to walk out but he moves closer again, slow and deliberate like a predator that already knows the prey is cornered. The faint blue light reflects off the tiles, casting strange shadows across his face, deepening the hollows of his eyes.
“I watched you for weeks after that day” he says, voice low, trembling not with fear but restraint. “I told myself I hated you, that I just wanted to make you pay for embarrassing me. But then…..” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze flickers to your mouth before dragging up to your eyes. “Then I saw you with your friend again. Helping her even when everyone else was laughing. You stood next to her even when I was the one everyone feared. Do you know what that did to me?”
You shake your head, stepping back but he keeps speaking, his tone turning thick, almost reverent.
“You were like-” he exhales sharply, words coming out hoarse, “-like light in a room that’s been dark too long. So bright it hurts to look at but you can’t look away either. You’re so selfless it makes me sick. I’ve never seen anyone care that much for someone else without asking for anything back. Not even fear could make you turn away. That day” he trails off, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, “ knew I’d seen something I’d never be able to forget.”
He takes another step forward. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek now.
“Do you know what it’s like” he murmurs, voice tightening, “to look at someone and see yourself come apart in their eyes? To see everything ugly in you reflected back so clearly that you can’t even hide from it? You do that to me. Every time you look at me, it feels like you strip away everything false. It’s unbearable. You make me want to be better and I hate you for it. I crave you for it.”
You back into the counter, your palms cold against the porcelain edge but he doesn’t stop. His voice grows quieter, almost worshipful.
“You’re like a mirror, showing me all the filth I try to bury. And at the same time, you’re like….” his gaze softens, his tone trembling, “a river. The cleanest one I’ve ever seen. The kind of water you’d want to drown in, not drink. Cold and pure, so merciless.”
He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers flexing at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach for you. “You think I don’t know I scare you? I do. I see it. But I also know what’s underneath it. That flicker in your eyes when you talk to me, that anger, that defiance, it’s the only thing real in this goddamn world. And I can’t stop chasing it.”
You can barely breathe now, the walls feel too close, the air too thin. He’s standing so close you can see the pulse beating at the base of his throat.
“I’m not built to worship anyone” he whispers, “but you-” his lips curl into something almost pained, “you make me want to kneel.”
You swallow hard, gathering what little air is left in the room. His words crawl under your skin, hot and cold at once.
“I don’t-” your voice cracks before you force it steady “-I don’t see you that way, Taehyung.”
For a second, the world holds its breath. You expect anger the kind you’ve seen before, that sharp, cruel edge he used to hide behind. But what crosses his face isn’t that. His pupils dilate until his irises almost vanish, black swallowing brown. His lips part, a shaky breath leaving him as if you’ve struck him somewhere deep in his chest.
“You don’t…..” He repeats the words slowly, tasting them, his voice hoarse. “You don’t see me that way.”
His jaw flexes. The muscle there ticks once, twice. You can see the effort it takes him to hold himself still. Then he laughs, low and breathless, one hand dragging down his face. The sound isn’t amused. It’s wrecked. “Of course you don’t” he murmurs, eyes darting back to you. “Why would you? You’ve never had to feel what I feel every time you walk past. You’ve never had to choke on your own heartbeat because someone looked at you for half a second.”
He takes a single step forward but the space between you feels instantly devoured. His breath hits your face when he speaks again, voice trembling from restraint.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
His hands come up halfway before stopping mid-air, fingers curling into his palms. You can hear the small, audible grind of his teeth as his jaw tightens again. His chest rises sharply before he exhales through his nose, eyes dark and glassy. He looks at you for a long, unbearable moment. Then his lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s softer, sadder and yet there’s a spark beneath it, something that makes your skin prickle.
“You really think you can just walk away?” His voice is quieter now, almost gentle but it trembles with something volatile beneath the calm. “That you can just, what, erase this?” He gestures faintly between you as if something invisible ties you together.
You stay still, fingers curled tight around the edge of the sink behind you. “There is no this” you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts.
He steps closer, the faint scent of his cologne and aftershave cutting through the sterile air. His shadow swallows yours against the pale tiles.
“If you’d just give me a chance” he murmurs, his tone almost pleading but his eyes sharp “I’d prove it to you. I’d show you I could be good for you.”
You open your mouth to speak but he goes on, his voice gaining a tremor- equal parts desperation and conviction.
“I’d devote everything to you. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. I’d be there when you’re tired, when you’re scared, when you just need to breathe. I’d learn every little thing that makes you happy. You wouldn’t even have to ask.”
The air between you grows heavy and electric. His breathing deepens, eyes sweeping over your face like he’s memorizing every feature.
“You won’t find anyone who’ll love you like this” he whispers, voice trembling but sure. “You can try, go ahead. But they won’t survive it.”
Your breath hitches. “Are you saying you’d hurt them?”
His eyes flicker up to meet yours. “Anyone who tries to come between us is fair game.” He says it calmly like stating a fact. “But you?” His tone softens, gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting second. “I could never hurt you. I’d die before I did.”
You take a small, shaky step back, the sink pressing against your spine, its coolness bringing momentary relief to your overheated figure. “This is insane” you whisper. “You’ve built some version of me in your head that doesn’t even exist. When that illusion breaks, you’ll see this for what it is- a mistake.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you with a faint, humorless smile. “You think I haven’t tried to find what I see in you in anyone else? I’ve looked. And every single time, it felt like biting into ash.”
There’s a silence that stretches too long, his eyes flickering over your face, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting himself. Then, almost under his breath, he says something that makes the hair on your arms rise:
“If I can’t have you, then I’d rather watch the world burn around you until you have no choice but to look at me.”
His voice is calm, steady and that, more than anything, makes your heart jolt violently in your chest. You feel your body move before your mind catches up. Pushing past him, the echo of your hurried footsteps bouncing off the tiles as you run out of the washroom, gasping for air that suddenly feels too thin.
You bolt through the doors, the sudden rush of night air slapping your face like a wake-up call from a nightmare that refuses to end. Your heels scrape and stumble against the uneven tiles of the corridor before they meet asphalt.
You don’t stop. You can’t.
You run past the faint glow of the parking area. Your lungs ache from how fast you’re breathing, chest rising and falling so sharply that it feels like your ribs might split.
The cool night hits you like a flood, the smell of damp grass, exhaust and metal mixing with the faint trace of perfume still clinging to your dress. You don’t even realize how uneven your breath sounds until you hear yourself. A broken, gasping sound, half sob, half panic.
You keep running until the concrete turns to gravel, until the open road yawns before you like a promise of freedom or maybe just distance. Distance from him. From the look in his eyes when you told him you didn’t see him that way. From the way his expression had cracked open into something raw and terrifying, something that wasn’t supposed to be love but looked too much like it to be anything else.
Your dress keeps getting in your way, the soft fabric clinging to your legs, tripping you. You stumble, catching yourself on nothing but air, the hem tearing slightly as you yank it free and keep moving. Each breath you take feels shallow, your body trembling with leftover adrenaline and disbelief.
How did it get this far? How did you let it get this far?
Your fingers fumble for your purse, you need your phone, need to call someone, anyone, your dad, yes, your dad. He’s the only one you can trust right now. You slow only long enough to dig through the small bag slung over your shoulder but your hands are shaking too hard. The strap slips off your arm and the purse nearly falls. You clutch it tight against your stomach, bending slightly, trying to unzip it.
Your breath fogs in the air as you whisper “Where is it, where-”
The streetlights blur at the edges of your vision. Your hands dive through the mess inside- your lipstick, your keys, tissues, the sound of metal clinking as coins scatter when you accidentally tip the bag too far. You curse softly under your breath, hands darting through the contents, desperate.
Your phone isn’t where you thought it was. Maybe it’s buried deeper. Maybe it fell out. You can’t tell. You can barely think. You glance over your shoulder, heart hammering so hard it drowns out every other sound. The road behind you stretches out empty, quiet.
You turn back, fumbling again, the zipper catching on the lining as if mocking your desperation. A choked, trembling laugh escapes you “Come on…..” you whisper, voice breaking.
You crouch slightly in the middle of the road, the strap of your purse twisted around your wrist, the night pressing in closer, denser. Every passing second feels like a thread pulled tighter around your throat.
And then somewhere behind you there’s a sound. Faint. A scrape of a shoe. Or maybe gravel shifting. You freeze.
The sound rips through the night like a scream- the sharp, high-pitched screech of tires skidding against asphalt.
You jerk your head up, the purse slipping from your hands and spilling onto the road. For a second, your mind doesn’t register what’s happening, the glare of headlights blinds you, white light swallowing the darkness, swallowing you.
The roar of the engine grows louder, closer, the air splitting with the sound of burning rubber and panic. You stumble backward, your foot catching the torn hem of your dress, almost falling. The ground feels like it’s tilting beneath you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
You try to move. You do move or try to.
But your heel twists, scraping the road, and the next thing you hear is the slam of your heartbeat against your ears. The headlights flare impossibly bright, blinding and then-
Impact.
It’s not even pain at first. It’s a jolt, a shock that knocks the breath out of your lungs. The world flips, sky, ground, light, dark all spinning into one blur. You hear the crunch of metal, the thud of your body hitting the pavement, the muffled sound of someone shouting distant like it’s coming through water. The cold of the asphalt seeps into your back as you hit the ground. Your fingers twitch weakly, your purse still half-open beside you, its contents scattered like debris from a forgotten life.
The world narrows into fragments, the pale glow of a streetlight, the faint metallic taste of blood in your mouth, faint sound of shouting. You blink, trying to focus but your vision keeps blurring at the edges.
This is the worst night of your life.
Your breath shudders out in a broken gasp. The lights fade. And then nothing.
SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?
A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 10th Chapter, with Chapter 11 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!
MY PATREON
I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.
The Gatford campus lawn stretched out in front of you like nothing had ever happened. It was the same well manicured hedges, same neat cobblestone paths, students lounging in lazy clusters under the sun. Birds chirped, some girl laughed too loud near the canteen and the sky was blue. It looked like the same world but your skin knew better. Every step you took across the lawn felt like walking into a minefield you couldn’t see.
You hadn’t been here in a week. After that day you couldn’t bring yourself to walk back onto this campus without the crushing feeling that something or someone would be waiting for you.
And of course, he was. You saw him before he saw you. He was standing a little off the main pathway beneath the shade of one of the larger jacaranda trees. No guards. No cronies. No smirk. Just Kim Taehyung in a pressed black shirt, sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets. Waiting.
Your stomach dropped and you almost turned around.
Then he looked up and smiled. Not the arrogant grin he wore like armor. Not the taunting curve of lips you’d grown to brace yourself against. This smile was calm. Empty of edge. Empty of meaning.
“(Y/N),” he said smoothly, as if greeting an old friend. “Welcome back.”
You stopped walking. People milled around you, students who had no idea what this moment cost your pulse, your breath. He took a slow step forward. Measured, peaceful and somehow more dangerous for it.
“I was beginning to think you’d never come back.”
You didn’t say anything. The sun was far too bright on his face but the shadows clung to his eyes.
“You look good” he added casually. “Rested.”
“Why are you talking to me?” you said quietly, wary.
His head tilted slightly like he was genuinely surprised by your question. “To say hello.”
Your jaw clenched. “You pointed a gun at me.”
He blinked, then nodded as if you’d reminded him of an item on his to-do list. “Yes. I did. That was….. intense.”
“Are you here to finish what you started?” you asked trying to keep your voice level “Or just to mess with me?”
A smile ghosted across his lips again. This one you didn’t like. It curled too slowly.
“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to thank you.”
You took a shaky breath. “Is this some new game?”
“No games” he said. “Just a change in perspective, you can say.”
You frowned “What does that mean?”
He looked at you with unsettling calm, head tilted slightly as though examining something strange in a museum.
“You ever see a painting,” he said, “that you walk past a hundred times without noticing and then one day, for no reason, it stops you cold? And suddenly it’s all you see. All you think about. Even when you close your eyes?”
Your skin prickled.
“I don’t think I’m following” you said slowly.
He smiled “You don’t have to,” he said. “Not yet.”
He took another step closer. Not close enough to touch but close enough to smell the faint scent of citrus and cologne.
“Let’s not fight anymore” he said softly. “I’ve decided I don’t want to be your enemy.”
You swallowed. Your throat felt like sandpaper.
“And why’s that?” you asked. “Because you think it’ll be easier to get what you want if you pretend to be friendly?”
His smile didn’t falter. “I think we understand each other more than you’d like to admit.”
“No” you said quickly, stepping back. “We don’t.”
He studied you for a beat, expression unreadable and then, to your complete bewilderment, he nodded like he agreed.
You tried to pretend that the lawn incident was just a one-time encounter but it didn’t end there. If anything, it was just the beginning. He started showing up everywhere.
At first, it was subtle. You’d exit your lecture hall and spot him across the corridor, leaning against a wall, seemingly on a call or reading something on his phone. But when your gaze met his, there was a flicker of recognition and intent before he looked away casually like it was a coincidence.
You started noticing him just a little too often. Near classrooms he had no reason to be near. Sitting outside your elective courses, courses he’d never taken before, with a cup of coffee and unread notes open in front of him.
The worst part? He never spoke to you. He just hovered. Watched. Made sure you saw him before pretending you didn’t exist.
At Café Min, it became worse. He came in almost daily, sometimes alone, sometimes with a few of his friends though their interest in the café clearly had worn off. You’d catch one of them whispering to him, gesturing toward the exit, clearly bored but Taehyung would stay. Sometimes for hours. He’d sit in the farthest booth, watching. Never ordering more than one drink. Always leaving a tip that was obscene and excessive.
You started getting follow requests on Instagram. You didn’t think anything of it at first. Since your account was private but one pattern began to worry you. The accounts had strange usernames. No profile pictures. Zero posts. But some of them used your name in the handles or photos of the café. You blocked them but more kept popping up. New names. New accounts. The timing was never random. It was always after your shifts or after you left class.
You had a feeling that it was him.But how could you prove it? And more importantly, why was he doing this? Still, the fear crept into your limbs like cold water. Every time you turned a corner, every time your phone buzzed, every time you thought you saw him in a reflection, your breath caught.
Because somehow, he had stopped threatening you. And that made everything worse.
Your troubles didn’t end there. It started again with a vague email from the student office. Just a one-line note: Your scholarship renewal documents are incomplete. Please resubmit before Friday.
You’d submitted those forms two weeks ago. You even had the stamped receipt copy but when you went to the office to clarify, the clerk merely offered a half-hearted shrug.
“It’s not showing up in the system” she said, typing just enough to appear helpful. “Maybe you forgot to attach your ID proofs?”
“I didn’t.” you replied firmly.
“Well, you can resubmit,” she said, tone already dismissive. “But the system won’t let you register for end-sem exams unless the paperwork’s cleared this week.”
You walked out of the office fuming. Your palms were sweaty against the envelope containing the now missing documents. Your heartbeat was a mix of panic and rage. Sam was waiting near the staircase, scrolling idly on her phone. When she saw your face, she straightened.
“What happened?”
“They lost my papers.” you muttered. “Or deleted them. Or pretended they never existed.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? That’s your scholarship. They can’t just-”
“I know,” you said tightly. “But unless I can magically get them to fix it, I’ll have to pay tuition out of pocket until it’s resolved.”
Sam looked like she wanted to break someone’s kneecaps on your behalf but before either of you could say more, “Trouble in paradise?” Taehyung stood a few feet away, posture relaxed, sunglasses in hand. He hadn’t been there a moment ago but now it felt like he’d always been watching. Your entire body locked up.
“Lost paperwork?” he asked, voice far too casual. “Let me guess. They’re pretending you never submitted it.”
You didn’t respond. Sam took half a step closer to you. He sighed, as if he was the one burdened by this.
“You know,” he said, looking at you with a strange sort of mildness “I could make a call. Or just walk in. They wouldn’t misplace things again.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you even know what’s happening with me?”
He smirked faintly. “I hear things.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Of course you don’t” he said almost indulgently. “You think this is some elaborate game, don’t you? That I’m going to swoop in, demand something in return and trap you in some moral debt.”
“Isn’t that what you usually do?”
His smile dropped. “I offered to help,” he said. “That’s all. You can keep drowning if you’d rather choke on pride.”
“Why do you care?” you asked sharply. “You don’t care about people. You don’t even pretend to.”
He stared at you for a long moment. Then said, “You’re right. I don’t care about people.”
There was a beat of silence. The campus around you moved as if underwater with soft voices, rustling leaves, laughter somewhere too far away to feel real. Then he added with the edge of something unfamiliar “But you’re not people, are you?”
The words stunned you.You took a step back. “If this is another way to mess with me-”
“You think too small” he interrupted, tone suddenly bored. “It’s honestly exhausting.”
He turned and started walking off. You were left staring after him, unnerved, breathing hard like you’d just escaped something you didn’t understand yet.
Sam was silent beside you. She hadn’t said a single word through the entire exchange. You expected her to say something as the two of you made your way to class.
But when you finally asked, “Did you hear all that?”
She nodded slightly. And when you tried to ask more, she just gave a noncommittal shrug and walked a little faster with her face closed off like she didn’t want to follow that thread of thought either.
By the time you reached class, it was like a fog had settled between you both.
You and Sam had taken to eating your lunch in the quiet patch of grass near the old banyan tree by the philosophy block which was far from the main quad, far from Café Min, far from him.
At least, that was the idea. There were only a few others nearby, a small group rehearsing for street theatre, someone sketching, two faculty members walking toward the library. Enough for it to feel public but peaceful.
You sat cross-legged with your tiffin box on your lap, trying to focus on Sam’s chatter about a documentary screening later in the week. She was animated but her words faded as your gaze flicked to the side of the path.
He was walking toward you. Alone. No entourage. No fawning crowd.
You stiffened. Sam’s voice cut off mid-sentence. You weren’t the only ones to notice. The theatre kids stopped mid-rehearsal. One of the professors looked up. A girl across the lawn stopped scribbling in her sketchbook.
Taehyung never came here. This side of the campus wasn’t his domain. And he certainly never came without a performance-ready smirk. But today, he wasn’t smiling.
He stopped a few feet from you, hands in the pockets of his slate-gray trousers, button-down shirt open at the collar, black coat flaring slightly in the wind. Even the weather seemed to tense around him.
“Are you avoiding me?” he asked, voice just loud enough for the others nearby to hear.
Your mouth went dry. “What?”
“I haven’t seen you around,” he said, taking a single step closer, his shadow stretching across your lunchbox.
“I’ve been in class,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.
“You weren’t at the café.”
Your breath caught. Sam shifted beside you, shoulders going stiff.
“I’m not required to be there when I’m not on shift,” you said cautiously.
“You always were,” he said simply.
There was something dangerous in his stillness, not the kind you’d come to expect from him, not the overt cruelty or smug games. This was quiet.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out: a folded piece of paper.
Without asking, he dropped it onto your tiffin box. You looked down. It was a photocopy of the notice you'd seen in the admin office earlier that day, the one about lost scholarship documents. Your name was circled in red ink. There was a note scribbled on it in tight handwriting:
Handled. Try submitting again now.
Your stomach turned.
“What is this?” you asked, voice tightening.
“Just a suggestion,” he said, tone unreadable. “You looked frustrated earlier.”
Sam sat up straighter beside you, ready to say something but stopped when he turned his gaze to her.
“We didn’t ask for your help” she said coldly.
Taehyung’s eyes didn’t shift. “No. You didn’t.”
His tone held no mockery. No bite. It was worse than that, it was genuine. Like he thought this was how things should work. Like he thought this was him doing something kind.
You felt your pulse in your throat. “Why are you doing this?”
For a moment, you could swear he looked almost offended. But only briefly.
“If you want to keep pretending I’m the problem, fine,” he said. “But I’ve stopped pretending about you.”
Then he turned. Walked away. Past a stunned Sam. Past a now silent lawn. Past the theatre students who were openly staring.
As he moved across the path, one of the campus athletes accidentally stepped into his way. The boy mumbled an apology and practically scrambled to the side but he kept walking.
You and Sam walked to class in silence.
But when you finally asked “What was that?”, she didn’t answer right away.
“Sam?” you repeated.
She kept her eyes ahead.
“Come on. That was insane. You saw it, right? He acted like we-like we know each other.”
Sam’s fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “Because if I say what I’m thinking….I might be right. And I don’t want to be right.”
You stopped walking, heart thudding.
She didn’t turn back. Just kept walking toward class, faster now, shoulders tense.
And you were left with the paper still folded in your pocket and the sound of your own thoughts unraveling in your ears.
At first, Sam thought Taehyung was still trying to punish them both. After all, the media confrontation hadn’t ended in blood but it had ended in a near breakdown that could’ve gone terribly wrong. She’d been watching her back constantly ever since. It didn’t help that Taehyung kept appearing. Not just in the usual places, not just where his friends were or where the noise was. No. Now he turned up in quiet corners of campus. In places he had no business being.
At first, Sam assumed it was coincidence or maybe intimidation and his way of showing them he could be anywhere, any time. Still trying to shake them.
But something began to change.
It was the way he looked at the (Y/N). Not with scorn. Not even with the smirk he usually wore like armor. No it was something else. It was intent like he was studying her. Like he couldn’t stop.
It started with him loitering near the arts block when he didn’t have classes there in the first place. Showing up at Café Min far too often, sometimes for hours, sipping coffee he barely touched, scrolling his phone like he was bored but never really looking at the screen. His eyes always drifted toward her.
He stopped acknowledging Sam altogether. That’s when she knew that he wasn’t trying to punish them anymore.
He was watching the (Y/N). And not the way people look when they’re infatuated. There was no softness to it. No romance. It was raw attention. Like he was consuming her with his eyes. Every move she made, every breath, seemed to pull his focus like gravity.
Even when she didn’t notice, Sam did. Especially then.
Once, during a lunch break, Sam had glanced up mid-bite and found him across the lawn, half-shielded by the quad pillar, eyes fixed on her best friend like he was watching a film only he understood. When she turned to speak to Sam, laughing about something, Taehyung didn’t blink. Just stared. Possessive and hungry.
That was the moment Sam knew. He wasn’t haunting them out of revenge anymore. He was obsessed.
And (Y/N) hadn’t caught on. Not yet. She still thought this was some new game. Some psychological manipulation meant to humiliate or break her. But Sam had seen obsession before in the stories of girls who ended up with stalkers, the way men acted when they didn’t hear the word “no.” This wasn’t an act of revenge anymore. This was fixation.
Sam hurried out of Café Min, one hand clutching the strap of her backpack, the other fumbling with the USB drive she needed to submit her project. The sky was beginning to melt into dusk and the air buzzed with the quiet noise of campus winding down. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, lips muttering a curse under her breath as she remembered she still had to cross half the campus to reach the Commerce Block.
That was when she heard it.
A low thud. Then a sharp grunt.
She froze.
The noise had come from around the back of the café where the staff usually took out trash and delivery boys smoked during their breaks. Something instinctive pulled her closer. She crept carefully to the side gate and peered through the slats in the hedge.
What she saw rooted her feet to the ground.
Taehyung.
And a boy who looked like one of the second-years, shoved up hard against the back wall, his collar fisted in Taehyung’s hand.The boy’s cheek was scraped. A smear of blood dripped from his nose and the stunned look in his eyes told Sam that the assault had come out of nowhere.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” Taehyung snarled, his voice shockingly guttural, nothing like the composed, cutting senior the campus knew. “Telling her you liked her laugh? That you’d ‘love to take her out sometime’?”
The boy stammered, trying to raise his hands in surrender. “It was just-just a joke man, I swear, I wasn’t serious-”
Taehyung slammed him back into the wall, the thud loud enough to make Sam flinch. His face was twisted, eyes wide, jaw tight, breath ragged. “You don’t even deserve to say her name” he hissed.
The boy’s hands scrambled against Taehyung’s wrists. “I didn’t even touch her-!”
Taehyung leaned in, his nose practically brushing the boy’s. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “You don’t need to. You looked at her like she was available. Like she’d say yes to someone like you.”
He let go for a brief second before slamming a fist into the wall beside his head, cracking the plaster. The boy flinched violently, clearly thinking the punch was for him.
Taehyung smiled. “You should be thanking me,” he said softly. “I just saved you from embarrassing yourself. She’s too good for you. For any of you.”
His smile faltered and what replaced it made Sam’s skin crawl. Possession. Cold and burning. He stepped back slowly, tilting his head, surveying the boy like he was already forgotten.
“If I ever see you near her again” he paused, wiped the back of his bloody knuckles on the boy’s collar, “you won’t have fingers to flirt with.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away. Calmly. Like nothing had happened.
Sam ducked behind the hedge again, hand clapped over her mouth to muffle the gasp that threatened to burst out. She waited until she was sure Taehyung was gone before emerging and watching the poor boy slide to the ground, shaking.
Sam’s hand trembled around her project folder. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Her mind kept replaying the twisted, glassy look in Taehyung’s eyes. The worship in his tone when he spoke about the (Y\N). The promise of violence.
Sam suddenly knew that this wasn’t going to stop.
Not with distance. Not with rejection. Not even with exposure. Something irreversible had begun and it was only a matter of time before it consumed them all.
Sam’s first instinct was to run to Y/N, to tell her everything she had just witnessed, the cracked plaster, the madness in Taehyung’s voice, the truth she now knew beyond doubt. But her phone buzzed and the sharp sting of guilt hit her as she read the texts from her groupmates, furious about her delay and demanding she hurry with the project. With a final glance at the boy who was now limping away, Sam turned and sprinted across the campus, her heart thudding with dread. It’s just thirty minutes, she told herself. Y/N’s in a café. Public. He wouldn’t do anything there..right?
The bell above the door chimed and you glanced up from the espresso machine, expecting a student or maybe one of the usual professors who came by for an evening pick-me-up. But it was Taehyung again.
Your brows drew together. He had just left barely ten minutes ago abruptly, his face unreadable as he stepped out mid-conversation with his friend. You hadn't thought much of it. He'd been coming to the café daily for the past week, silently occupying his corner seat like clockwork, always ordering the same thing, always watching, not you directly but never not you either.
Now, he was back. He walked toward the counter with that same deliberate slowness. His hair was slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it several times and there was a smudge on his cheek of something red and faint. A flash of something darkened his knuckles.
You forced your voice to stay neutral as he reached the counter. “What would you like to order today?”
There was a beat of silence too long. Then he smiled but it wasn’t the usual amused curl of his lips or even the cocky smirk he gave when mocking someone. This smile was distant, unfocused, a strange twitch tugging at his mouth like he was only barely present in his body.
His voice was soft. “It’s time you gave me orders.”
You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. Then your eyes dropped to the dried blood across his knuckles, the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his shirt collar was askew.
The air around you grew heavy and suddenly the familiar walls of the café didn’t feel familiar anymore. They felt like they were inching closer, curling in like a trap. The register beeped behind you as if to remind you where you were but nothing about him looked normal.
You stood frozen, hands still on the counter, as his eyes bored into yours.
And for the first time, you felt not just the unease and the suspicion but the terrifying certainty that something was very wrong.
