NOT ALL ROSES // KIM TAEHYUNG
It's not always roses and sunshine in this world, sometimes the most dangerous man is the hero, and the ones after her are just as bad.
What happens when Adaline meets a cafe owner who saves her from an attempted kidnapping and ends up helping her through a dark and scary situation?
What if the cafe owner isn't who she thought he was? And what if he falls in love with her? What if he would kill to protect her?
|| THIS STORY WILL BE CROSS POSTED ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, AO3 ||
PART 1: THE MEETING
Pairing: Kim Taehyung / OC Character
Words: 3750
1 || 2 || 3
Adaline POV
I noticed the rain before I noticed him. The rain had been falling for days now, relentless, steady, the kind that seeps into everything if you give it enough time. My shoes were damp all the way through, my coat heavier than it should've been, and strands of my long, brown curly hair clung stubbornly to my face no matter how many times I pushed them back.
The city felt wrong in that kind of rain, too reflective, too watchful, like every surface was quietly observing you. I told myself I was just being paranoid. I told myself that right up until I stepped into a café that also seemed almost like a library.
The bell above the door rang, sharp and out of place, cutting through the low hum of the room. Warmth hit me, but it didn't settle in right away. I was still half outside, still caught in that uneasy feeling I couldn't quite shake.
The café itself was dim but inviting, soft amber lights reflecting off polished wood counters, the faint scent of coffee beans and something sweet lingering in the air. It felt lived-in, quiet, like the kind of place people stayed longer than they planned to. Still, something about it felt... off.
"Are you still open?" I asked, my voice slightly breathless from the cold.
The man didn't answer. That was the first thing I noticed about him. Not his height, though that came a second later, because he was tall enough that I had to tilt my head just slightly to meet his eyes. Not the way his black hair fell in soft, damp waves, curling faintly at the ends as if the rain had followed him inside. Not even the stillness in the way he stood, like he barely moved unless he meant to.
It was the silence.
Most people would've said something like "yeah," or "closing soon," or at least acknowledged me. Something normal. Something human. Maybe he wasn't human?
He just looked at me and then walked past me.
Rude.
I turned, frowning, watching him as he moved toward the front window. There was something deliberate in the way he did it, like I'd interrupted something important, something he hadn't quite finished.
"What—"
He locked the door.
The click echoed through the café, sharper than it should've been, like it carried weight.
"Hey," I said, more sharply now. "What are you doing?"
"Lower your voice." The male warned me with more of a commanding tone.
It wasn't loud. If anything, it was too controlled, like he didn't need volume to be taken seriously. My chest tightened, irritation rising quickly to cover the flicker of something else. "You just locked the door."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't answer right away. He stood there, still facing the window, his reflection faint in the glass as rain streaked down the outside. For a second, I thought he might ignore me completely.
"You were followed," he said finally.
I blinked, caught off guard. "No, I wasn't."
"You were."
"That's not—no. I would've definitely noticed if that was happening."
He turned then, finally looking at me properly, and something in my stomach shifted. Not fear exactly, not yet, but close enough that I recognized it.
"Most people don't," he said.
I let out a short, disbelieving breath. "Okay, well that's... not helpful."
"They circled the block three times."
"That doesn't mean they were following me."
"It usually does."
"Usually isn't always," I shot back.
For a second, neither of us spoke. Then headlights slid across the window, cutting through the dim café in a slow, sweeping motion. I didn't mean to look.
But I did.
A white sedan passed by, moving slower than it should have, not stopping, just... lingering as it went. My stomach dropped slightly, something cold settling under my ribs.
"...Okay," I said quietly. "That's weird."
He didn't react. Didn't say I told you so. Didn't need to.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I stayed. Not because I trusted him, I told myself that more than once, but because leaving suddenly felt like a worse option. The café felt different now, quieter, like the walls were holding onto the tension between us. I sat down in one of the wooden chairs, the legs creaking softly under my weight, clutching my bag like it gave me a reason to be there.
He leaned against the counter like he'd been there forever, like time didn't move the same way for him. Up close, I noticed more. His build was lean but strong, his posture relaxed without being careless. He looked... put together in a way that didn't feel accidental. Like someone who paid attention to everything, even if he didn't show it.
"You're overreacting," I said eventually.
It sounded weaker out loud.
"Maybe," he replied. His voice was deep, steady, and when he glanced at me, a strand of his dark hair fell slightly over his right eye, softening something that was otherwise sharp.
I frowned. "You don't even know me."
"No."
"So how would you know if someone's following me?"
"I don't."
I stared at him. "Then what? This is just a guess."
"It's a pattern," he said flatly.
"That's not the same thing."
"It's close enough."
I huffed a quiet laugh, more out of nerves than humor. "You're unbelievable."
He didn't react. That annoyed me more than if he had.
"Why are you so calm?" I asked.
"I'm not."
"You look calm."
"That's different."
I studied him then, really studied him. There was something off about him, not in a dangerous way, at least not obviously, but in a way that made it clear he saw things differently than most people. Like he noticed things others ignored, and didn't feel the need to explain it.
"Have you done this before?" I asked.
"Locked a door?"
"No. This. Watching people like that. Noticing things."
A pause.
"Yes."
Just that. No explanation, no elaboration. And weirdly enough... that was the moment I stopped thinking about leaving.
"So since I can't exactly leave," I said, shifting slightly in my seat, "how about you at least tell me your name?"
For the first time, he hesitated. The look on his face was almost subtle, but it was there like I'd asked him something unexpectedly complicated.
"...Taehyung," he said after a moment. "Kim Taehyung. I own this cafe."
He pushed himself off the counter then, wiping his hands on a dark apron tied around his waist before moving behind the counter with quiet efficiency. "What would you like to drink, Miss?"
The shift was so normal it almost felt surreal.
I blinked, then answered, "Adaline. And... a hot vanilla chai, please."
His eyes met mine again, brown, but lighter than I expected, almost hazel under the warm lighting, and then he nodded once before turning away. I watched as he moved around the cafe with practiced ease, reaching for ingredients without hesitation, every motion precise and unhurried.
It took me a second to realize—
He wasn't using a pre-made mix. He was making it from scratch. Something most cafe's didn't do anymore.
Spices. Milk. Tea. Measured and combined like it actually mattered.
And for some reason, in a moment that didn't make any sense at all—
That made me trust him just a little more.
I watched him longer than I probably should have. There was something almost hypnotic about the way Taehyung moved behind the counter. Quiet, efficient, like every motion had already been decided before he made it. Nothing about him felt rushed or uncertain. Even something as simple as making tea carried a kind of quiet precision, as it mattered more than it should. He reached for a small glass jar, unscrewed the lid with a soft twist, and almost immediately the scent of spices drifted through the air—cinnamon, clove, something deeper and warmer that settled low in my chest. It cut through the lingering smell of coffee and rain, grounding the space in something real.
"You always make it like that?" I asked, leaning forward slightly without realizing it, my voice softer than before.
He didn't look up right away. "Like what?"
"Like it actually matters," I said, watching his hands as he measured everything without needing to check. "Most places just use powder."
"They shouldn't," he replied simply.
"I agree, but that doesn't answer my question."
There was a small pause, like he considered not answering at all. Then, "Yes."
I huffed quietly, shifting in my seat. "You're not very talkative, are you?"
He glanced at me then, just briefly, his gaze steady but unreadable. "You are."
"That's because you're giving me nothing to work with."
"That's intentional."
I blinked at him. "Wow. Okay, rude."
For the first time, something in his expression shifted—so subtle I almost missed it. Not quite a smile, but close enough that it softened the sharpness of his features, and for some reason, that made something in my chest loosen.
"You're still here," he said.
"That's because you locked the door," I shot back.
"You stayed before that."
I opened my mouth to argue, the response already forming—but it stopped halfway out.
"...That's different."
"How?"
I hesitated, my fingers tightening slightly around the strap of my bag. I didn't actually have an answer that made sense.
"I don't know," I admitted after a moment. "It just is."
He didn't push it. Didn't try to pick it apart or force me to explain. He just turned back to the stove, stirring slowly, letting the silence settle again—but this time it wasn't as sharp. It felt different. Softer. Like it still had edges, but they weren't cutting into me anymore.
After a moment, I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms loosely as I watched him. "So, you own this place?"
"Yes."
I stared at him. "That's it? Just 'yes'?"
He glanced over his shoulder slightly. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, something normal," I said, gesturing vaguely. "Like how long you've had it, why you opened it, if you secretly hate customers?"
"I don't hate customers." He said blankly.
"Good to know."
"I've had it three years."
That caught me off guard. "Three years? That's... actually impressive."
He shrugged lightly, like it didn't matter. "It works."
"That's not very passionate for someone who makes tea like that," I said, nodding toward the cup as steam curled upward in slow, delicate spirals.
He poured the chai carefully, not spilling a drop. "You don't need passion for something to be done well."
I tilted my head, studying him again. "That sounds like something someone says when they're avoiding the real answer."
This time, he did almost smile, quick, faint, gone as soon as it appeared, but real enough that I noticed.
"You ask a lot of questions," he said.
"You avoid a lot of answers."
"Maybe I don't like being known."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin in my hand, watching him more closely now. "Then why tell me your name?"
That made him pause. Not long, but enough to notice. Enough to feel like I'd hit something real.
"...Because you asked," he said.
"That's not a real reason."
"It was enough."
I studied him more carefully now, taking in the small details, the way his hair fell into his eyes again, the way his hands moved without hesitation, the way he never seemed fully relaxed, even when he looked like he was.
"You're weird," I said.
"I've been told that."
"I believe it."
He slid the cup across the counter toward me. "Your drink."
I stood, walking over, the wooden floor creaking softly under my steps. The second I wrapped my hands around the cup, the warmth seeped into my fingers, chasing away the lingering cold from outside. I didn't realize how tense I'd been until that moment, and how much I needed something simple and steady like this. I took a small sip, expecting it to be good.
I wasn't expecting it to be that good.
"Okay," I said slowly, blinking as the warmth spread through me, "that's... really good."
He didn't look surprised. "I know."
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "You're confident."
"I'm accurate."
I leaned against the counter now, closer than before, without really thinking about it. "So, Taehyung-who-does n't-like-being-known, what were you doing before I walked in?"
"Working."
"On what?"
He didn't answer right away.
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Where you pretend a one-word answer is enough."
"It usually is."
"Not for me."
There was a pause, longer this time. Then he exhaled quietly, like he'd decided something.
"Watching."
That made me still. "Watching what?"
"The street."
"Why?"
His gaze shifted toward the window again, just for a second, but I caught it. "Because something was off."
My grip tightened slightly around the cup. "Before I got here?"
"Yes."
"And then I walked in."
"Yes."
I let that sit there, the weight of it settling slowly.
"...So I made it worse," I said.
"No."
I frowned. "Then what?"
He looked back at me, his expression unreadable, steady in a way that made it hard to look away. "You confirmed it."
That didn't make me feel better.
I took another sip of the chai, more to give myself something to do than anything else. "You do realize this all sounds insane, right?"
"Yes."
"And you're just... okay with that?"
"I'm used to it."
That answer landed heavier than it should have. It wasn't just what he said, it was how easily he said it, like it wasn't even worth explaining.
I studied him again, slower this time, more carefully. "You keep saying things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you've dealt with this before," I said. "Like this isn't new to you."
He didn't respond.
Which, at this point, felt like an answer.
"...You're not going to explain that, are you?" I asked.
"No."
"Figures."
Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Just quiet. The rain tapped steadily against the windows, soft but constant, and the warm lighting in the café made everything feel smaller, contained. For a moment, it almost made it easy to forget about the car, about the feeling of being watched.
Almost.
"How long do we wait?" I asked eventually.
"Until it's gone."
"And how do you know when that is?"
"I'll know."
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. "You really like vague answers."
"They work."
"For you, maybe."
Another small pause passed between us, the kind that didn't feel forced anymore.
Then, unexpectedly, he said, "You don't have to stay."
I blinked. "What?"
"You can leave," he said, his tone even. "If you want to."
I let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. "You just spent the last hour telling me I was followed."
"Yes."
"And now you're saying I can just walk out like that's a good idea?"
"I didn't say it was a good idea."
"Then why say it at all?"
He looked at me then, steady and direct in a way that made it hard to look away. "Because it should be your choice."
That caught me off guard. Completely.
I didn't answer right away, my thoughts stalling in a way that felt unfamiliar.
"...You're confusing," I said finally.
"I know."
I stared at him for another second, then shook my head slightly, tightening my grip on the cup before setting it down. "I'm staying."
"I figured."
"Don't sound so sure of yourself."
"You're still here."
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't argue.
Time passed without me noticing exactly how. Eventually, he moved toward the door, unlocking it slowly, carefully, like he was listening for something beyond what I could hear. He glanced outside, scanning the street in that same focused way.
"It's clear," he said.
I stood, instinctively reaching for my bag again. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
I moved toward the door, but he stepped ahead of me, opening it first. The rain had softened into a drizzle again, the street quieter than before.
"I'll walk you," he said.
I paused. "You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
He met my gaze briefly, something unreadable flickering there. "Because you shouldn't go alone."
I studied him for a second, weighing whether to argue.
I didn't.
"...Okay," I said quietly.
He locked the door behind us, the sound softer this time, and then fell into step beside me—not too close, not too far, just enough to be there. The air was cool and damp, brushing against my skin, the city quieter now except for the distant sound of cars and the steady drip of rain.
We walked in silence for a while.
But this time, it didn't feel heavy.
And for the first time that night, I didn't feel like I was being watched.
Up close, I noticed his right eye, which had been slightly covered earlier, was a shade of blue.
"You're staring at me."
"Your eye-"
"I'm blind in my right eye." Taehyung was quick to dismiss the barely started conversation.
The sky had started to dim by the time we left the cafe, the rain thinning into a soft mist that clung to the air rather than falling. It blurred the edges of everything, the streetlights, the passing cars, even the buildings, as if the city was slowly dissolving into shadow. The last of the daylight stretched faintly along the horizon, streaks of dull orange and gray fading behind layers of cloud.
Taehyung walked beside me without saying anything, his pace steady, unhurried, like he already knew where we were going even though I hadn't given him directions yet. It took me a second to realize I'd started matching his steps without thinking. Not too fast, not too slow. Just... in sync.
"You don't even know where I live," I said after a moment, glancing at him.
"I will," he replied.
"That's not creepy at all."
"It's efficient."
I let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"No."
"See, that right there that's an answer."
"It's still accurate."
I shook my head slightly, but the tension in my shoulders had eased, just a little. The sound of our footsteps mixed with the faint drip of water from awnings and rooftops, the city was much quieter now, like most people had already gone inside to escape the rain.
Still, I caught myself looking.
At windows. Reflections. The street behind us.
Old habit, or new fear, I couldn't tell anymore.
"You're checking," he said suddenly.
I looked at him. "What?"
"The glass. The cars. You keep looking."
I hesitated, then sighed softly. "Yeah. I guess I am."
"Good."
I frowned. "Good?"
"It means you're paying attention."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
"It's not supposed to."
I glanced at him again, studying his profile in the fading light. "You're really not great at comforting people."
"I'm not trying to."
"Clearly."
A small pause followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt... easier than silence should have felt between two people who had only just met.
"My building's up here," I said after a minute, nodding toward the corner.
He didn't respond, but I noticed the way his attention shifted, subtle, but immediate. His posture straightened just slightly, his gaze moving more deliberately now, scanning ahead, then briefly behind us.
It made something in my chest tighten again.
"Do you always do that?" I asked.
"Do what?"
"Look around like you're expecting something to happen."
"Yes."
"That's not exhausting?"
"No."
I exhaled slowly. "I think it would be for me."
"It will be," he said.
That wasn't reassuring.
We reached my building a moment later. The front light flickered faintly above the entrance, casting a weak glow over the doorway. Everything looked the same as it had earlier. Quiet, still, normal.
Too normal.
I slowed down slightly as we approached, the same uneasy feeling creeping back into my chest.
Taehyung noticed.
"You feel it again," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"...Yeah," I admitted quietly.
He stepped slightly ahead of me this time, reaching the door first. He didn't open it immediately. Instead, he paused, listening, his head tilting just enough to catch sounds I couldn't hear.
"What?" I asked, my voice lower now.
"Nothing," he said after a second.
"That doesn't sound reassuring."
"It means there's no obvious movement."
"Obvious doesn't help."
"It's still something."
I didn't argue. I just watched as he opened the door and stepped inside first.
That alone should have made me nervous, letting someone I barely knew enter my building ahead of me.
Yet it didn't. Not really.
The hallway looked the same. Dim lighting, slightly worn floors, the faint hum of electricity in the walls. The smell of detergent lingered faintly in the air, just like before.
Still, it felt off.
Again.
We walked up the stairs together, the creak of each step louder than I remembered. This time, I was hyper-aware of it, every sound echoing just a little too much in the quiet.
"You always live alone?" he asked suddenly.
I glanced at him. "Yeah. Why?"
"No one else would've moved anything."
My stomach tightened slightly. "You're really set on that, huh?"
"Yes."
We reached my floor, and just like before, I slowed down. My apartment door sat at the end of the hall, closed, still, exactly where it should be.
Nothing wrong.
Nothing out of place.
But the feeling was there.
Stronger now.
I stopped a few feet away, my hand tightening around my keys.
Taehyung noticed immediately. "What?"
"It feels the same," I said quietly.
"Same as what?"
"Before. When I got here earlier."
He didn't dismiss it. Didn't tell me I was overthinking.
"Stay here," he said.
"What? No—"
But he was already moving.
He walked past me, straight to the door, his movements careful but not hesitant. He didn't touch the handle right away. Instead, he crouched slightly, examining the lock, the frame, the edges, like he was looking for something specific.
"Any damage?" I asked, my voice tight.
"No."
"That's good, right?"
"It means they didn't need to force it."
That didn't help.
At all.
He stood and held out his hand. "Key."
I hesitated for half a second before handing it over. He unlocked the door slowly, deliberately, like he was expecting resistance.
There was none.
The lock clicked open, and he pushed the door inward just slightly and then paused.
Listening.
The silence stretched.
"What do you hear?" I whispered.
"Nothing."
"That's bad, isn't it?"
"It's not good."
He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped inside first.
My heart was pounding now, loud enough that it almost drowned everything else out. I followed a second later, slower, my eyes scanning the room the second I crossed the threshold.
Everything looked the same. Exactly the same. The couch, the table, the window.
Nothing out of place.
I let out a breath, too soon.
"See?" I started. "It's—"
I stopped, my gaze locked onto the table. My chest tightened so fast it felt like I couldn't breathe. The camera. It was there. Right where I'd left it.
But not how I'd left it.
I stepped closer slowly, like getting nearer would somehow change what I was seeing.
"I didn't—" I started, my voice quieter now. "I didn't leave it like that."
Taehyung didn't speak. He was watching me, not the camera.
"It was facing the window," I said, more firmly now, trying to hold onto the memory. "I remember. I set it down while it was charging. The cord was pulled this way—" I gestured slightly "—and the lens was angled toward the glass."
Now—
It faced the door. Directly, centered. Like it had been positioned there on purpose. Like it had been watching. My stomach dropped.
"That's not an accident," I said, barely above a whisper.
"No," Taehyung agreed.
I turned to look at him. "Nothing else is moved."
"I know."
"So they came in here—" my voice wavered slightly "—and didn't take anything. Didn't break anything. Just... turned it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
His gaze shifted briefly to the camera, then back to me.
"To let you know they were here."
The words settled heavily in the air.
I looked back at the camera, my chest tightening, that same cold feeling creeping up my spine again.
Watching.
Waiting.
Just like before.
Except now—
I wasn't alone when I saw it.
