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gold-gguk · 3 years

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《 Halloween in June 》

summary ↠ It’s been 6 months since you and Taehyung have made it official, and it’s been nothing but sarcastic roast sessions and the occasional binge of Criminal Minds on Netflix, but for the last of those glorious months, a rather strange arrival has made himself known to the closing baristas at your place of work. Which brings you to the newly normalized routine of your closing shifts: the weird guy (who wears demon horns?) is seen stalking the outside of the shop again, Taehyung specifically asks you not to work the shift alone, and you do exactly what you always do...work the shift alone.

genre ↠ angsty angst ooO

member ↠ kim taehyung

warnings ↠ physical violence | stalking

word count ↠ 5.1k

moodboard credit to @jiminspjm

"Don’t close by yourself tonight,Y/N. I mean it.”

The words of your boyfriend, Taehyung, sternly imparted by soft lips against your temple while you’d prepared to leave for work earlier today, are still ringing painfully around between your ears as you directly disobey him. You watch the new barista, whom you’ve just excused from the gruesomely slow shift, gather her belongings, clock out, and disappear into the caramelized evening with a resounding jangle of the door chimes.

Arching away the guilty prickles that slowly inch up your spine at the knowledge of what you’ve just done, you sigh inwardly, pursing your lips as you traipse back behind the bar to finish up the last of the menial cleaning tasks. Taehyung is fully aware of your nasty habit to send home the newer baristas a little early on particularly slow nights like this one which is exactly why he’s been blowing up your phone since you arrived, making calls every hour that you’ve been declining in the name of “busyness”, but really, you know that hearing his voice will only make you feel worse about sending Jess home when he specifically told you not to. If it weren’t so furiously endearing and didn’t make you feel a kind of protected that you’d never let him know you felt, you might think Taehyung was being a little more overbearing than he is.

Despite Taehyung’s wishes, there’s really no point to having two people on the clock when there have only been three customers in the last hour--one of which being the regular that resides in the back corner working on the next great American novel that he’s had half finished for about two years now. You and Jess, even with her distracted habits and scatterbrained nature, got miles ahead on the closing list, leaving you very little to do besides counting the money drawer, cleaning out the espresso ports, and locking up at the end of the night.

You regret these bulleted thoughts when a sharp buzz begins smarting against the glass at the top of the pastry case, your phone screen lighting up to reveal a candid frame of Taehyung’s squinted smile, his name shining like a beacon across the top. Even after half a year of that picture present in your phone, the reminder that the man whose image it bears is the one calling you still sends your nerves blazing--a fact you’ve had to endure Taehyung teasing you about on numerous occasions (though he would admit to the same).

Gripping your phone in your palm to cease the outright noise, you clench your jaw in preparation, letting your thumb hover over the green phone icon so long you have to rush to press down before the call times out.

“Hello?” you breathe into the receiver, the muffled sound of a Seinfeld rerun playing on the mounted TV above the coffee bar.

“Y/N! Hey,” Taehyung’s rasped resonance hurries back, slightly airy as if he’d been holding his breath before you answered. “How are things going? Is everything good there? I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all night.”

You sigh again, running a hand through the haphazardness of your hair as you lean against the pastry case, holding the phone closer to your ear. “I know, I’m sorry. Me and Jess were swamped trying to get ahead on the cleaning while we had time.” There is only a small bit of solace you find knowing it’s more of an omission than a lie.

“Swamped?” he repeats, voice almost unreadable. “Huh, well that’s nice. Every shift I worked last week totaled maybe 10 customers.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight. “Yeah, business isn’t the same in the summer,” you sigh, deftly avoiding the truth of your customer count.

“Quite the bummer,” Taehyung speaks in that way he does when he’s waiting for a laugh. One you can’t help but give if for no other reason than how stupid it was.

“Lame,” you chuckle, finding the feeling of the smile tugging against your lips rejuvenating.

“How’s Jess doing?” Taehyung’s next question sends your grin running back to its hiding place with its tail between its legs. You’d have to tread carefully.

“She’s...” you begin, trying your hardest to sound casual. “Ya know, good.”

Nailed it.

“Good? Hasn’t run the espresso machine without the espresso yet? Dropped any open milk jugs?”

You’re trying to read his tone, but he sounds naive to your “omissions” so far. “Nope, no messes, broken machinery, or third degree burns to speak of yet.”

He huffs idly. “It’s only a matter of time. I’ll make sure to warn her about the christening the espresso machine likes to give newcomers when I work with her next week.”

You manage to quirk a grin as you settle into the conversation. “I’m sure she’d be grateful to hear that from you.” It was no secret that Jess had a certain affinity for Tae and his boyish charm, always dropping soapy dishes and fumbling with change when he would walk into the shop. It was somewhat endearing.

“Hmm,” he hums idly before saying something that shoots an arrow into your stomach. “Why don’t you just give her the phone for a sec, and I’ll tell her now? No time like the present.”

Your muscles tense and eyes close, slowly recognizing the familiar color to his voice. He also dons it when he’s asking if you ate the leftovers that no one else but you and he have access to.

“How’d you know?” you breathe, defeated, lifting a hand to your face.

“You didn’t brag about how much more tip money you’re bringing home with all this ‘business’ you have,” he responds casually, and you can’t tell if you’re in trouble yet or not. “You never miss a chance to be the breadwinner.”

You chuckle lightly, cautiously, breath tense for the moments that follow. “I thought you might be...ya know, mad if I told you I was closing alone.”

“Again,” he corrects. “Closing alone again.”

“Again...” you amend, feeling like a child on the other side of a pointed finger. You might’ve been upset, annoyed, that Taehyung is parenting you if you hadn’t been the instigator, knowing exactly how to avoid his gentle wrath and still choosing to step in its way.

You hear an exasperated sigh seep through the phone, and you can almost see him, eyes closed, locks shaking back and forth, nose bridge pinched between his pointer and thumb. “Y/N,” he breathes. “Are you actively trying to make my hair fall out? Cause it sure feels that way. You can’t see, but I’m holding a few shiny, very luxuriously conditioned locks in my hand right now. They should not be in my hand right now.”

You know he’s scolding you, but his personality washes through the receiver and makes you smile--something you try to hide in your tone lest he turn into more of your father. “I promise your balding is the farthest thing from a priority, Tae.”

“Then why, why, do you insist on blatantly ignoring me every single time?” In the background of the call, you hear the soft click of a door being shut. The jangle of keys.

“Taehyung, please tell me you are not leaving the apartment right now.” You say instead of answering him, your own eyes closing.

“My hair is falling out, and you’re upset that I’m coming to see you? Your priorities really are out of whack.”

You sigh and laugh in tandem, your neck almost hurting as it tries to decide which side to commit to. Annoyed or humored. “Of course I’m not upset that you’re coming to see me. I just wish it wasn’t because you think I can’t handle myself by myself.” You begin idly tracing the frame of the register next to you, twisting the key in the cash drawer back and forth.

Another creak as Taehyung pushes through the front door of your apartment building, the sounds of passing cars whooshing through the background as he begins the trek further downtown. “Y/N, I promise I believe you are fully capable of handling yourself. It’s just with everything that’s been happening there lately...that maniac...” He trails off, breath tight. “Just humor me. I’m protective.”

You breathe slowly before answering with half a mind to roll your eyes at the fact that you almost did want to humor him. The maverick inside you fights lazily with your secret desire to be sheltered. Instead of giving in outright, you glance at the clock and make your escape for the time being with a curt, “I’ve gotta lock up. See you soon.”

You end the call and replace your phone on the counter, moving to inform the great American author in the back that it was closing time. He gathers his things quickly, looking slightly deflated at whatever progress he had or hadn’t made during his time here, and disappears into the blackening night. With an empty store and slight prickle of annoyance rumbling in your stomach, you flip the locks closed on the front door, swiftly turn up the chairs onto the tables, and clean the final espresso port before clocking out.

Taehyung still isn’t here, but you aren’t surprised. Your apartment is a twenty minute walk from the shop and you’ve spent all of ten finishing up the quick close.

You gather your things in your arms and stand by the front window, taking only a moment to decide that you will meet Taehyung halfway home instead of sitting like a duck in the dark and empty space, knowing that your maverick is winning the fight now and you want to leave if for no other reason than to show Taehyung you really could handle yourself by yourself.

You take a step, backing away from the window with pursed lips. It isn’t even the length of an inhale after you turn your back, however, before a loud and raucous slam resounds throughout the shop. You freeze mid-step, shoulders tensing immediately and eyes wide as you slowly shift your gaze behind you, already knowing what you will find when it arrives.

There he is.

Party City devil horns pointed high. Halloween makeup smudged and unnerving across his wild face. Palms planted flat and tense against the thick glass of the window.

No one knows where he came from or why, only that a few weeks ago he made a claim on main street. A demon in human form hellbent on terrorizing the small businesses littering the downtown area in the dead of night. Somehow he was in perfect sync with the closing schedules, choosing the nights when you least expected him to appear without a warning to make himself very known and frighten the living fuck out of the witnesses.

He hasn’t hurt anyone...yet...mostly because everyone so far has been smart enough to stay out of his way. Make it home before he showed up, if you were lucky, or stay in a pair or group which he tended to keep his distance from for whatever reason. Everyone so far except for you. Of course.

Realizing you are still frozen and freaked, you turn your eyes to the basement door that you had been heading for in the first place--a less conspicuous way to exit and the way you had been hoping to take to avoid him altogether. He hasn’t shown up at all the last few closes you’ve done alone, and most of his appearances--besides the first time almost a month ago--you’ve only heard about from coworkers. Maybe that’s why the healthy dose of fear you are supposed to have was nowhere to be found tonight.

It sure as hell is here now. Too little too late.

All of a second has passed since you glanced away, but with a swift look back, your eyes come up empty of all things frightening which somehow frightens you all the more. Your breath quickens. Your saliva dries, sticking as you attempt to swallow without success.

“Ok, Y/N,” you self soothe, the weak sound you hear squeak from you not in the least bit convincing. “No need to freak out. You’re gonna be just fine. Composure. Composure.”

You swallow thickly once more and stand up straight. Maybe he’s gone? Maybe your presence is of no interest to him tonight? You try to assure yourself of these things as you slide to the basement door, glancing over your shoulder every other beat because of course you aren’t convinced. Is the basement the safest way? What if he’s waiting down there? What if that’s what he wants you think so you’ll walk right out the front door instead? Is it better to just stay put? Can he get inside?

Deciding it’s less likely he knows about the back exit and feeling too frazzled to stay, you hurry on. The sweat lacing your palm as it clamps around the brass door handle is thick, sliding somewhat as you turn and tug it open, closing it just as swiftly behind you. In the dimly light stairwell, you feel only slightly consoled.

It’s with haste now that you descend the rickety old wood and stumble across the dank room towards the hidden alley door, grappling with the key in your purse all the while in preparation for your speedy retreat. Taehyung has to be close -- and then a spike of fear because Taehyung is outside with him.

The basement door is opened and then closed, ushering you outside within the same moment, and as you shove the key into the lock, you fumble with your phone in your free hand, your nerves making it doubly hard to unlock it and redial your most recent contact.

“Hey, I’m almost there,” he answers immediately, sounding annoyingly clueless to the danger he so adamantly warned against. You feel almost hypocritical as you interrupt his, “Just another minute or-”

“Tae, turn around, please,” you hiss intensely, your eyes wild around you as you creep down the narrow alleyway, not sure if you should feel protected or trapped yet.

“Turn around? But I’m almost--” He pauses, confused. “Y/N what’s going on? Did you leave? Please tell me you’re still inside.”

“I-I-” you stutter, questioning if you want to explain your reasoning in this current moment. You are almost to the end of the ally and then it would be brightly lit streets and witnesses. Almost there.

“I’ll defend myself later,” you urge, realizing you are whispering. “Just turn around, please. I’ll meet you at the apartment.” You shake your head at yourself, upset for a random moment that you are so affected just by the sight of this human apparition. He hasn’t hurt anyone, you remind yourself.

And then suddenly you are on the ground, your phone scattering a few feet away from you. The muffled electronic questions of Taehyung are thin and blurry in the background. You realize your vision is swimming and lift a hand to your forehead where it comes away red and sticky, shining in your fuzzy view. The asphalt had hit you hard. Confusion quickly gives way to concern and then terror as you roll to your side, head pounding. The first clear thing that enters your vision is the double point of a pair of horns leering over you.

You think you scream, but can’t be sure. The sound melts into the night, as if it never happened, leaving you even more petrified than you thought possible. Voiceless.

You feel so helpless, bleary and bleeding, underneath the shadow of this terror, his face illuminated in the most horrifying of ways as the moonlight stripes over his dark and dreary makeup, lighting up half of his sickeningly joyed smile with flashes of silver fire.

Another silent scream.

He’s standing over your lower half, nothing in his hands to indicate he’d been the one to cause your stumble. Maybe one clumsy moment of fear has fated you to this. No one to blame but yourself.

He leans down, and your heart stops for a moment making breathing impossible. You try to discern if the liquid you feel on your cheek is a stream of thick tears or the blood from your forehead streaking down. Neither bring you any form of comfort or distraction from the hell spawn closing in on you. He speaks no words with the part of his sinister smile, just a ravenous snarl followed by a hyena-like chortle that tells you, “I’m having fun. Are you?”

You feel yourself attempt to move away from him, your palms scratching desperately against the black pavement beneath you, cutting and clawing your skin with a welcome pain that tries to convince you you have a chance. Only you don’t and he is on top of you again, this time reaching out, his grin deepening as his ink stained hands spread around your forearm, tugging hard.

You yelp, audibly this time, gathering just enough breath to plead, “No,” as the grimy feeling of his fingers spreads along your arm like poison. This only seems to please him further as he grips harder, pain igniting beneath his touch.

And in that moment, a moment that feels like eternity in slow motion, you want nothing more than to apologize to Taehyung. To tell him he was right and you’re sorry and you miss him and need him and want to be protected and will tell your maverick to move out for good if it means this second of pure terror will end. You close your eyes, certain now that the liquid on your cheeks is both blood and tears. Please let it end.

And it does.

The pain blooming along your arm subsides. The searing presence of him overtop of you is removed. You can breathe. You can move. You grasp at your chest, sucking in air like you’ve never drank a breath in your life. It’s only after multiple deep gulps of oxygen that the blurry noise in the background races to the forefront, clear and alarming.

“You fucking bastard! You sick fuck, don’t touch her!” Taehyung’s voice echos sharp and furious in your ears, and your eyes fly open to drink in the scene. He’s grappling with the demon, rolling him over as the devil fights with the growls and snarls of a wild animal, biting and gnashing his fangless teeth at Taehyung’s face before his hands are pinned on either side of him. The control only lasts a moment, though, as Tae’s anger gets the best of him and he releases one of his hands to throw a few heavy fisted punches against his target’s jaw.

The horned man’s head thrashes to the side with the force of the impact, and you know you should feel assuaged somewhat by the karma being dealt, but the way the man laughs through the pain puts your nerves on ice. You scrabble away in a moment of clarity and urgency towards your discarded phone, a slim crack racing along the screen. You fumble once more to unlock the device.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A calm voice questions in response to your dial, the juxtaposition almost enraging against the scene you’re helplessly witnessing.

“My boyfriend!” you cry. “He’s--the other man jumped me and--please help, I don’t know how long he can keep him down!”

“Please slow down, ma’am,” the voice urges, only a fraction more concerned than before. You have to remind yourself that it’s their job to stay calm when the other end of their line is anything but. “Where are you now?”

“Alley!” you answer desperately. “The alley behind the shops on main street! Please hurry!”

In front of you, where your eyes are still glued, Taehyung is flung to the side with a zealous convulsion from the demon beneath him. He smacks into the brick wall next to their writhing tussle with an oof before the man is clambering onto him like a beast, his face bruised and bloodied by Taehyung’s fists. Vengeful.

A shriek rips through you and the phone drops to the ground just as the 911 operator is mollifying, “Help is on the--”

“Taehyung!” you wrack, your head empty of anything but the sight of him bracing futilely against the claws the man is using to slash across Taehyung’s forearms and face. He is trying with everything in him to buck the devil from his chest, but he has him pinned good and shows no signs of relenting, practically foaming at the mouth with unfettered hate. And that face...the evil. The rage.

You don’t think. You don’t question your next move. You’re suddenly casting yourself from where you’d been crumpled on the asphalt, a shout that could’ve come from anyone but you tearing through your throat as you launch across the space between you and your attacker. Your hands feel the tattered fabric of the demon’s jacket before your brain catches up to you, nails digging into the flesh beneath it and you yank.

A confused grunt escapes who is now your victim as he topples backwards and away from Taehyung. “Get OFF!” you seethe, furious, terrified, and aflame with adrenaline as you tug with the strength of ten of you and slam the unaware man into the pavement. You give him no moment of respite before you’re the one in control, pinning his arms down with the weight of your knees and laying into him with all you’ve got. Your nails are just as effective as his were against Tae, if not more-so. Blood is slick in the gashes you leave against his cheeks, neck, collarbones, blazing red against his ruined makeup. The facade of the maniac is crumbling beneath you.

You see the wild anger give way to what resembles fear as he slowly realizes the mistake he has made. At least he’s sane enough for that.

Deep moans of anguish and pleading are flowing from him now, still no words, but you don’t need them to know you’re inflicting pain. Well deserved.

“Y/N! Y/N that’s enough!” Taehyung’s voice seeps into your red rage fueled tunnel, a light at the end that you’re not ready to reach. You feel the weight of his arms wrap themselves around your midsection, pulling with a force you can’t combat before you’re unfastened from the devil. He remains grounded. He doesn’t move to run or escape, instead rolling over with another moan as he covers his bleeding face with his hands. One of his horns has detached beside him. In the near distance, you register the sound of sirens.

“You got him, Y/N, you got him,” Tae hushes into your ear, still holding you tight against him. It’s not until he speaks that you realize you are still struggling to free yourself and return to your karmic retribution. “Relax, Y/N, we’re ok. You got him.”

It’s then that you hear yourself crying, your cheeks now completely doused in the sweat and tears of the passed moment. You’re shaking against Tae’s chest, and as he finally sets your feet back on the ground, you crumple in his arms, all the adrenaline rushing out of you quicker than you can adjust to. He catches you deftly, holding you upright as he turns you into him, hiding your face in the joint of his neck and shoulder as he sways back and forth, ushering a calming pattern against your back.

“The cops are here, Y/N,” he whispers, alerting you to the red and blue lights swimming a few yards away and the sound of car doors popping open. Questions shout their way down the alley towards you, but you don’t hear anything but noise. You breathe Taehyung’s scent in for all it’s worth.

“He’s right here, officer!” Tae speaks for you both, calling towards the coming aid. The sound of clattering footsteps rushes past you, and you hear the echoed moans of the man become more desperate as he’s lifted off the ground and cuffed with a comforting click before the horrid sound disappears away down the alley and into the back of a car. It’s not until that car has pulled away and sped off, your nightmare with it, that Taehyung gently pulls back, his hands coming to cup your trembling jaw. He lowers himself to look into your eyes with intense concern, searching you. The red and blue lights of the remaining cop car flash methodically behind him, and you can feel the lingering presence of another officer nearby, waiting to question you, you’re certain.

“You okay?” Tae softens. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I will be,” you assure him with some semblance of a smile. “You?” With a sense of normalcy returning to you, you bring your own hand to ghost against the scratch marks left in the perfect skin of his face. Taehyung tries not to flinch against the sting. You’re only pacified knowing you did much worse. “Look what he did to you...”

He mirrors your soft smile of reassurance. “I’ll be okay. It beats going bald.”

You’re surprised that you laugh, given the circumstances, but you’re grateful for it. The sound feels like a weight rolling away. You lift your hand further to tousle his very thick and secure locks. Taehyung sighs against your fingers. “Can we go home now?”

____________

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry,” you smile apologetically as you dab the cotton ball softer against Taehyung’s skin. His eyes are closed, palms resting against your thighs as you both sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor of your apartment bathroom. You’ve been tending to each other’s wounds for the past half hour after arriving home, but with every pat pat pat of rubbing alcohol and Neosporin across marred skin, you’re hit with a wash of guilt that began bubbling in your stomach the moment that cop car drove away.

You clear your throat and the lump in it. “Um, Tae...thanks again for dealing with the police afterwards.” You’ve thanked him five times already, but you can’t seem to satiate the guilty conscience living it up in your gut. “I don’t think I would’ve spoken coherently if I’d tried.”

He doesn’t call you out on the fifth repeat. He just sighs softly and smiles against your gentle cotton touch. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’m just glad you’re ok. Seeing you in that alley when I got there...” He trails and his smile tenses before he shakes it off, not wanting to add anymore weight to the night. “Well...it could’ve been a lot worse.” His hand tightens around the flesh of your thigh.

Your careful trail across his face slows to a stop. Taehyung opens his eyes to question you only to find your gaze fixed over a spot on the floor, eyes clouded.

“Y/N...” he whispers, reaching for your face.

“I’m sorry,” you rush, pushing his hand away. He stares at you, confused, hand frozen in midair. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” The lump in your throat won’t be swallowed away this time.

“Y/N, don’t--”

“No, Taehyung, it is,” You urge, your voice tightening as the prickle of heat ignites behind your eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.” The warmth wells the more you try to contain it behind the brazen tone of your voice. “If I had just fucking listened to you, we wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor wiping blood off of each other’s faces. If I wasn’t so goddamn stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to cut into a lunatic in a middle of an alleyway. Tell me that’s not my fault, Taehyung.” There is no hope of hiding the tears now as they bubble and boil over and down your cheeks, stinging all over again. You’ve had enough crying for a lifetime tonight. “You can’t. You can’t tell me it’s not my fault because every time I look at your face--” You clasp his jaw between shaking hands. “--I know it is.”

You bite your trembling lower lip and let go of him, pressing the heel of your palms against your burning eyes. You want to hide, disappear, get swallowed up in this moment, almost ashamed to be sitting in front of him so freely. You want him to at least get mad at you. You deserve something.

Instead of any of that, though, you feel the warm and soothing trace of Taehyung’s fingers bloom around your wrists, peeling them away with gentle force until your rash red face, swollen with cuts and tears and splotches, is revealed to him. He takes both of your hands into one of his, his free palm coming to wipe away the waterfall streaming across your skin, and you can do nothing but squeeze the warmth of him like any second it’s going to disappear. Maybe that’s exactly what you deserve after what you caused tonight. The thought of it shreds you.

“Y/N,” he calls, and you meet his eyes for the first time, a fresh flow of waterworks exploding when you see the utterly pure sincerity he wears in his gaze. “Listen to me very carefully.” He leans forward, tugging you along until your foreheads rest gently together, his hand trailing to the back of your neck where he holds you secure. It’s still not close enough.

“Was a single decision tonight made with any intention of purposefully putting someone in danger?”

The question gives you pause. You weren’t expecting it. “...No.”

“Then nothing--not a single thing--that happened to either of us was anyone’s fault. Do you hear me? You did nothing wrong.” His voice is like honey in your ears, his soft conviction so mesmerizing, you want to believe him. “Even had I known what would happen...I would’ve done it all over again for you. Never question that.”

You cry softly as you stare at him, utterly speechless as to how you deserved someone so full of kindness and goodwill. You don’t know if you’ll ever figure that one out.

He tips his head forward and attaches his lips to yours in a slow kiss, the feeling of it sending a wave of total calm and reassurance through you. When he pulls away, he pulls you with him until you are cradled against his chest, his legs walled around your form as you rock back and forth on the bathroom floor, surrounded by discarded cotton and open tubes of Neosporin.

“I love you,” you hear yourself whisper against him.

A content sigh from above you precedes lingering lips atop your head. “I love you,” he agrees. “More than you know.”

Through the fading sting of tears and freshly healing wounds, you really do believe him. And no amount of worry-fueled balding or strong-willed stubbornness will change that.

___________

ok, before you say, “devil horned man? really?” which many of you MAY HAVE already done I PROMISE YOU this plot was inspired by very true events at a very real job i had a while back, LEGIT someone like this exists, and i just ran with what I was given, ok thank yew.

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