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delightfultheoristfox · 29 days

Text

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I have no clue how this works the thought process was like: since I'm stuck in the worst writing block of my life why don't I start crossposting on Tumblr so it kind of feels like I've accomplished something while the truth is that I haven't been able to complete a WIP in two months? 🫠 I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun.

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his.

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin.

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him). His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required. Wanted. Needed.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this.

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday.

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking.

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream.

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere.

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight.

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole.

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #jealous simon riley #ghost x reader

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elikajinnie · 7 months

Text

You Know You Should Not Have Survived That, Right? | Ghostface!Heeseung x fem!reader PART 2

PART 2 OF 4 Pairing: Ghostface!LeeHeeseung X Fem!reader

Please read Part 1 before proceeding if you haven`t already!

Genre: Romance, Horror/Thriller

Wordcount: 35k

Warnings: Swearing (Offensive words), Stalking, Obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, Blood/Injury, Violence, Graphic depictions of injury, Attempted murder, Murder, Mental health struggles, Family struggles, Self confidence issues, Bullying, Kidnapping, Jealousy, Alcohol and Drug use, Heeseung kinda goes feral?? does that count as a warning? !!KINDA MATURE CONTENT!! Minors beware!!

a/n: It took awhile to finish this chapter, but i finally dug myself out of the writing block i had and completed. So this chapter is longer then the second, combined together the fic has an estimated wordcount of 48k. Some scenes have been inspired from the Scream movies and The Slumber Party Massacre. I do not take any credit from that, so be free to check them out. I also wanna personally thank my pookies for giving me motivation to finish it <3 ANyways! Enjoy this long ass chapter :3

REMEMBER!; This is purely fictional and just for fun. I do not wish any harm upon any characters.

Important note!

When in costume Heeseung will be described as Ghostface when they do not know his identity.

The dialouges are kinda cheesy at times and suck so dont mind it.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You sat in the cold, sterile room of the police station, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The air was heavy with tension, and the room echoed with the hushed conversations of officers and the distant ring of phones. The chair beneath you felt uncomfortable, but you held yourself with crossed arms, gaze fixed on the waiting area where grief-stricken families sought solace in their shared sorrow.

Your eyes, however, betrayed no tears. The well of grief within you had been drained, leaving only an unsettling emptiness. Yeji's family and your own were engulfed in a sea of tears, but you couldn't bring yourself to join their sorrow. The pain had numbed you, turning your emotions into a distant echo of what they once were. And, to make matters worse, the perpetrators of Yeji's death claimed innocence, painting it as an accident and an act of self-defense. A bitter scoff escaped your thoughts—self-defense, yeah right.

Heeseung, had confessed that he never intended to harm Yeji, planning to leave her alive. However, that plan unraveled in chaos when the police arrived, turning the night into what the media dubbed The Nightfall Homicide. The name seemed eerily fitting, a descriptor for the tragedy that had unfolded.

In the cramped room, you listened to the officer's questions, his words a distant hum in your ears. The memories of that night, now tainted with the knowledge of Heeseung's double life, clouded your responses. You found yourself withholding the truth, a newfound reluctance to reveal the dark secret that had unfolded in that secluded hut.

"I told you, we were partying," you recited mechanically, your voice betraying none of the turmoil within. "I went to the bathroom, came back, and the chaos had erupted. The police arrived, shot Yeji, and I blacked out from the shock. Woke up in the forest and walked back. I don't remember anything more." The officer nodded, accepting your words, though a subtle skepticism lingered in his gaze.

As you exited the room, your younger brother, Kyungmin, lunged at you, wrapping his arms around you in a desperate hug. His plea not to die clung to the air, and you reassured him with a murmur. The weight of the situation pressed on your shoulders as you shifted your gaze to the adjacent room, where Heeseung sat, a striking contrast to the stark police station backdrop. His presence alone seemed to make the air thicker, your breath hitching as your eyes locked onto his. He occupied the chair with an unsettling ease, facing directly towards you, his posture exuding a disconcerting nonchalance. Legs casually spread, he idly played with a coin between his fingers.

Your unease intensified as you noticed his intense gaze fixed solely on you. The officer conducting the interview seemed oblivious to the silent exchange, engrossed in paperwork or perhaps wilfully ignorant of the tension building in the room. Heeseung tilted his head, a smirk dancing on his lips, a chilling expression that sent shivers down your spine. A gulp caught in your throat as he toyed with you, his eyes narrowing in a way that suggested an unspoken challenge.

The momentary confrontation shattered as the officer redirected their attention back to Heeseung. His smirk vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of innocence, as if he were hanging on every word the officer uttered. The speed at which he shifted his expressions, from smirking provocatively to feigning cooperation, sent a chill down your spine. It was unnerving, the way he effortlessly danced between personas.

The clarity dawned on you—the stark absence of his scent, the lingering touch of his hands, and the distant memory of his lips on yours allowed your mind to untangle itself from the web of emotions. As you watched him, questions echoed loudly in your mind, demanding answers that seemed elusive in the fog of uncertainty. Why was Heeseung a killer? What drove him to act this way, and why did he reserve a special kind of attention for you?

Your heart and brain waged war within you, locked in a relentless battle. The dissonance between the memories of his affection and the grim reality of his actions created a storm in your mind, leaving you standing at the center, grappling with the aftermath of a truth that shattered the illusion of who you thought he was.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a lone lamp, casting shadows that danced along the walls. You sat at your desk, notebook open, pen in hand, attempting to immerse yourself in schoolwork. The day had been long, emotions running all over the place, and sleep felt elusive. Your family had retired to their beds, asleep, but you found yourself unable to succumb to the embrace of slumber.

Two distinct knocks on your window disrupted the quiet of your room. Your head snapped towards the source of the sound, confusion etched on your face. You cautiously approached the window, pulling aside the curtains to peer into the darkness outside. The moon's feeble light offered little clarity, and you hesitated before opening the window to investigate further.

A figure materialized before you, and with an involuntary yelp, you stumbled backward. "Heeseung! What are you doing here?" you hissed, the surprise evident in your voice. Heeseung attempted a graceful entrance through the window but ended up tripping, the thud of his landing echoing in the room. With a sheepish "oof," he got up, closing the window behind him.

"I wanted to see you," he confessed, drawing closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "But... I thought you were still at the police station or..." Your words trailed off, lost in the jumble of thoughts racing through your mind. Heeseung silenced you with a reassuring shush, pulling you into a warm embrace. At first, you stiffened, the memory of recent events resurfacing, but gradually, you found comfort in his arms.

"You didn't say anything to the cops," Heeseung mumbled as his gaze wandered around your room. "Yeah... I didn't," you admitted, unsure of the implications. "Good," he replied, settling on your bed and noticing the schoolwork spread across it. "Still working, hm?" A casual smile adorned his face. You shrugged in response, and he patted the space next to him, inviting you to sit.

A violent storm of inquiries raged within the confines of your mind, each question vying for attention, clamoring to be voiced. Yet, as you attempted to give voice to the cacophony of thoughts, an inexplicable restraint silenced you. "I can hear you thinking," Heeseung's voice cut through the quiet, drawing your attention. You looked up, eyes widening as you found his gaze fixed upon you, a contemplative darkness shrouding his eyes. His face remained an enigma, devoid of emotion.

"Sorry..." you uttered, a feeble apology, as Heeseung gently seized your hands in his. You couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the seemingly tender hold and the gruesome reality your mind incessantly reminded you of. Those same hands that now sought connection had wielded a weapon, held a knife, and bore the evidence of violence, your blood staining their once seemingly innocent surface.

A shiver ran down your spine as you pulled back, a reflex driven by the reminder of the dual nature residing within those hands. The conflict within you intensified – the desire for comfort at odds with the fear embedded in your memories. The room hung heavy with unspoken tension, a palpable silence punctuated only by the beating of your heart and the weight of your unuttered questions, imprisoned within the recesses of your mind.

"Look... why did you come here?" you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Heeseung sighed, "I just wanted to see you. Listen, I know you're mad and confused, but I won't hurt you. I promise." He tilted your head up, and in his eyes, you found a sincerity that tugged at your doubts.

"Okay... but can you leave?" you requested, your gaze drifting away. Heeseung, seemingly taken aback, huffed and stood up. "Sure," he replied before surprising you, grabbing your jaw and leaning down to whisper in your ear. "But remember, you are mine now." With those words hanging in the air, he climbed out of the window.

You hastily closed the window behind him, the room now echoing with the weight of his departure. As you collapsed onto your bed, a wave of tears escaped, tracing wet paths down your cheeks and onto the bedding. Exhausted, confused, and emotionally drained, you succumbed to the fatigue, seeking refuge in the solace of a restless sleep.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The school hallways stretched before you like a desolate maze, each step heavy with the weight of grief and the relentless whispers that followed you. Your bag, laden with textbooks and unspoken burdens, hung from your shoulder as you trudged toward your locker. The days leading up to the school's reopening had been a nightmarish blur – a cacophony of sleepless nights and missed meals, the relentless gossip clawing at your fragile composure. Heeseung's absence, a void in your life, left you feeling hollow, uncertain if it was the vacancy or the lingering shock that cast a pallor over your existence.

As you walked alone through the corridors, the usual chatter seemed distant, and the faces that turned toward you carried a mix of sympathy and morbid curiosity. You scanned the crowded hallways in vain for Heeseung, but he remained elusive, adding another layer of unease to your already heavy heart.

Gathering your books, you made your way to class, the weight of loneliness accentuated by the empty seat beside you where Yeji used to sit. The desk stood as a poignant reminder of the void left by her absence. The principal's voice crackled through the speakers, momentarily breaking the uneasy silence, as he addressed the student body with a somber acknowledgment of the lives lost to the Ghostface killer. The words offered little solace, and the notion of moving forward seemed an insurmountable task.

Sighing, you leaned over your desk, lost in the shadows of your own thoughts. The monotony was interrupted by a voice – Kim Taehyung, a high viewed person in the high school popularity. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked, and you shrugged, the emptiness of the seat beside you an invitation.

"I've heard a lot about you, Y/N," Taehyung stated, his eyes locked on yours with a mixture of fascination and curiosity. "Yeah, sure you have," you replied, fully aware of the rumors that painted you as a survivor of Ghostface's relentless pursuit.

His question echoed in the hollow spaces of the classroom, "Is there any reason why you have survived against him?" A peculiar intensity colored his gaze, unsettling you. "I don't know... I always ran and fought," you replied, a simple truth.

As you shifted your gaze from Taehyung to the front of the class, a sudden tension gripped the air, as Heeseung, entered the room. His eyes, drawn like magnets, found you immediately. Yet, as his gaze lingered, it snapped abruptly to Taehyung, who had leaned over to you with an question that sliced through the stifling quiet.

"Heeey, do you know who Ghostface is?" Taehyung's question hung in the air.

Shock painted your features, the abruptness of the question catching you off guard. "What?" you asked, incredulous. "Why would you ask this stuff?" The words tumbled out, a mix of disbelief and frustration.

Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, put his arms up in a placating gesture. "Hey, it's just a question!" he protested, his tone attempting to diffuse the sudden hostility.

"Yeah, well, you seem very stuck on Ghostface," you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The intensity of Heeseung's glare toward Taehyung was palpable, a silent warning that cut through the charged atmosphere. You could almost feel the weight of Heeseung's unspoken threats, and, somehow, you didn't doubt for a moment that he was capable of carrying them out.

Just as the situation reached a boiling point, the timely entrance of the teacher disrupted the building tension. Heeseung, now robbed of immediate action, had no choice but to take his seat, back where Jay had ushered him earlier.

The minutes dragged on in the classroom, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to concentrate on the lesson. Heeseung's piercing gaze bore into the back of your neck, a constant reminder of his presence. The weight of his stare created an almost tangible pressure, making it difficult for you to focus on anything other than the unnerving energy radiating from him.

As you tried to navigate the sea of swirling thoughts, it became apparent that Taehyung was also affected by the charged atmosphere. His usually relaxed demeanor had shifted to one of stiffness, as if he, too, could feel the invisible tension in the room.

The bell finally rang, breaking the spell that had held you captive. Quickly rising from your seat, you made your way toward the exit. However, your attempt to escape the suffocating atmosphere was short-lived, as Taehyung followed you out.

Annoyance etched across your face, you turned to face him, questioning his persistence. "What are you doing..." you asked, a tone of irritation lacing your words.

"Nothing! It's just—well, you didn't answer my question!" Taehyung exclaimed, his eagerness revealing a certain fixation on the topic that left you uneasy.

In your peripheral vision, Heeseung lingered, a silent figure observing the exchange. "No. I don't know who Ghostface is. His mask is always on. Now leave me alone." The words, firm and final, left no room for further discussion as you walked away, a flicker of relief washing over you as Taehyung, thankfully, chose not to follow.

The bustling sounds of the cafeteria gradually faded as you walked past it, as you did not feel any desire for food. As you turned a corner, the unexpected collision with someone jolted you back to the present. Looking up, your eyes met Heeseung's, who stood there, leaning against the wall with an air of anticipation.

"Heeseung?" you whispered, confusion etching your features. Before you could question his presence, he swiftly grabbed you and ushered you into the janitor's closet, deftly locking the door behind you.

"What did Taehyung-ssi want?" he asked, hands gently caressing your arms. "He asked about you—well, about Ghostface," you replied. Heeseung's eyes lingered on yours, then drifted to your lips. An almost-kiss hung between you, halted in anticipation.

"May I kiss you, my love?" he inquired, seeking your permission. You nodded, but Heeseung demanded more. "Words, love. I need words." A nod from you wasn't enough; he craved words. "Yes," you said, granting him permission. A satisfied smile graced Heeseung's lips as he bridged the gap, initiating a kiss. An electric spark ignited as your lips met, and you gasped when Heeseung tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

His hand found your waist, pulling you closer, and he pressed you against the wall. The other hand supported his weight, creating an intimate embrace. "Fuck, I missed you," Heeseung murmured between kisses, his lips trailing down your jaw and throat. Collateral to his ardor, he adjusted your collar, pulling it down as it hindered his path. A sudden bite against your neck made you jump, and as he pulled back, a mischievous grin played on his lips.

"Now Taehyung knows you are taken," he declared, pulling you in for another kiss. His hand found its way to your neck, thumb on your jaw, and index finger tracing your cheek as he hummed, savoring the moment, while you squeezed your eyes shut, caught in a whirlwind of sensations.

The fervent exchange of kisses consumed you, Heeseung's touch igniting your senses. Pinned against the wall, your mind buzzed with the intensity of the moment – his lips on yours, his distinct scent enveloping you, his hands exploring every inch of your being. Your fingers clung to his shirt and neck, desperate to hold onto the sensations he stirred. His groans and whispered praises fueled the passionate encounter.

As the intensity of the moment peaked, Heeseung left a trail of bite marks and love bites across your skin, each one a testament to the desire that consumed you both. With each mark he left, you felt a surge of pleasure ripple through you, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

As the distant bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, you gasped for air, attempting to break free from the all-encompassing kiss. Heeseung, however, pursued your lips, capturing them once more. "Heeseung," you managed to utter between breaths, but his fervor persisted. "The bell," you insisted, feeling the urgency of the passing time.

"Skip with me," he pleaded, his words laced with desperation. He tilted your jaw up, examining the marks and bites he had left on your collarbone, throat, and neck, a sense of accomplishment evident in his humming. Overwhelmed, you gulped, and before rational thought could intervene, you nodded. Heeseung grinned, seizing your hand and pulling you out of the janitor's closet. Together, you raced through the now deserted halls, escaping the beginning of the next class.

Outside, you both ran through the empty streets until Heeseung stopped by a serene lake. Turning to you with a smile, he guided you down to the water's edge. "Why are we here?" you asked, curious about his choice. "It's my favorite place," Heeseung confessed, his gaze fixed on the distance. "I haven't been able to come here for a while." The sincerity in his words caught you off guard. "Is this a special place for you?" you asked, seeking to understand the layers behind the man who, despite his dark actions, appeared lost. Heeseung nodded, meeting your eyes before returning his gaze to the water. Unable to find words, you embraced him, and after a brief hesitation, he reciprocated, his face nestled against your neck, his form trembling ever so slightly in your arms.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

In the quiet confines of your room, the soft glow of the moon painted a delicate tapestry across the ceiling. Lying in bed, you found yourself enveloped in the dim illumination. Fingers intertwined, you absentmindedly fiddled with your hands.

Confusion reigned as you grappled with emotions that had evolved from a simple crush on Heeseung into a complex, undeniable love. The journey from infatuation to this deep, forbidden affection was unexpected, and you struggled to reconcile the warmth that surged through you whenever Heeseung was near with the harsh reality of his dark secret.

With every stolen glance, your heart seemed to flutter, almost smiling in response to the mere presence of Heeseung. The touch of his lips on yours sent your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and the brush of his fingers against your skin set it tingling with an electric charge. His captivating gaze, those dark eyes that held a universe of mystery, had the power to turn your legs into jelly.

Yet, amidst the euphoria of love, an undeniable truth lingered—an uncomfortable awareness that Heeseung was a murderer. The police, having found Beomseok in the Ghostface costume, believed they had solved the case. However, recent news stories hinted at the contrary. Murders continued, marked by the enigmatic Ghostface masks left at the scenes, challenging the assumption that the killer had been unmasked.

In the silence of your room, the conflict within your heart manifested in the gentle rise and fall of your chest. You pondered the morality of your emotions, wrestling with the profound love you felt for a man who lived a double life—one of tender affection with you and another steeped in darkness.

The echo of the argument resonated in the corridors of your memory, a haunting playback of words that lingered in the silence of your thoughts. It was a scene etched vividly—the dimly lit kitchen in Heeseung's house, the weight of your question hanging in the air like a storm on the horizon.

Heeseung, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, confronted your question with an unsettling nonchalance. "What?" His voice held a detached quality. "Did you kill all those people that are on the news?" you pressed, the words carrying a heaviness that seemed to punctuate the air.

"Well..." Heeseung's response was a hesitant admission, a glimpse into a world stained by the consequences of his actions. "Not all of them, at least not the ones where the mask is left behind. Amateur move, honestly." he dismissed, scratching his neck as if contemplating the simplicity of the copycat killer. The chilling revelation, sent shivers down your spine. It was as if you were discussing a mundane topic, not probing the depths of a heinous crime.

The revelation brought forth a torrent of emotions, a mixture of fear, anger, and a profound sadness. "So someone is acting like they are you, doesn't that bother you?" The question hung in the air, a plea for acknowledgment that the reality of his actions should stir something within him.

However, Heeseung's response, delivered with an eerie calmness, further unraveled the threads of your emotions. "No? Why should I?" he retorted, indifferent to the gravity of the crimes that mirrored his own. "Because they're doing the same thing! Killing! Hurting. That's wrong!" you said.

In a hauntingly intimate gesture, Heeseung closed the distance, his hand seizing your jaw, commanding your attention. "As long as they don't touch you," he murmured, his words a possessive declaration that resonated down to your very core. His hand descended to your neck, fingers tracing a delicate path, as he swore, "I will kill them if they touch what's mine." The tension crackling in the air like electricity. Heeseung, undeterred, leaned in for a kiss, seizing the moment to entangle your senses in a web of conflicting emotions. His tongue invaded the space between your lips, a calculated move to distract and claim, his other hand enveloping your waist.

Your legs shook as he pulled you closer, his tongue slipping past your lips in an invasive dance. There was a desperate urge to succumb, to lose yourself in the intoxicating familiarity of his touch. Yet, with an iron resolve, you pushed him away, breaking the suffocating embrace. "I just... I can't do this now, Heeseung," you whispered, your voice a fragile echo in the room. In that moment, you turned away from him, the sanctuary of his home now tainted with the bitter taste of reality.

Without waiting for a response, you bolted, your footsteps echoing through the hallway as you fled from the confrontation you weren't ready to face. The door slammed shut behind you, a final punctuation mark to a conversation that left wounds too raw to bear.

The outside world greeted you with the cool embrace of the night, the stars a witness. As you ran through the quiet streets, the rhythmic cadence of your steps became a desperate heartbeat, each stride a futile attempt to outrun the truth.

Heeseung, left behind in his own dwelling, resisted the urge to chase after you. His silhouette stood tall in the doorway, bathed in the muted glow filtering through the windows. Leaning his head down, his eyes fixated on the space you once occupied, he wore a cold stare that betrayed no emotion.

The memory played like a vivid nightmare, each detail etched in your mind—the coldness of his stare as you escaped, the desperation that radiated from you, and the haunting realization that love had entangled you in a dangerous dance with a man who lived in shadows.

Heeseungs Pov:

Heeseung's days at school turned into a relentless quest, a desperate pursuit to find you, to have a moment alone, to bridge the widening gap that seemed to stretch with each passing day. Yet, you were always two steps ahead, a phantom in the hallways, eluding his attempts to catch even a glimpse of you. The avoidance seemed like a deliberate dance, and he, despite his persistent efforts, was left yearning for a moment to talk, to connect.

His texts, now read with the status delivered. Calls, once filled with the warmth of your voice, turned into one-sided conversations as he was greeted by the coldness of voicemail. The frustration mounted, and Heeseung, a master of control, felt his grasp slipping.

One evening, driven to the brink of desperation, he climbed up to your window, a silent plea etched on his face. The curtains, drawn tightly shut, denied him even a glimpse of the space where you laid. Knocking on the window in the darkness, he called your name, but the room remained shrouded in silence.

The realization hit him like a cold gust of wind—his efforts, no matter how persistent, couldn't breach the walls you had built. The decision weighed heavy on him, but with a heavy heart, he conceded to give you space. The anger and frustration that pulsed within him found an outlet, a return to the only thing that brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction: murder.

As the other Ghostface, seemingly inspired by his legacy, terrorized the town, Heeseung decided to expand his reach to other towns. The chase, the thrill of the hunt, became a distraction from the echoing emptiness left by your absence. Yet, none of it compared to the rush he felt with you.

The chase, the fear in his victims' eyes, and the life draining from them were all familiar sensations, but none matched the electrifying thrill he had experienced with you. The adrenaline rush was too quick, leaving him even more frustrated.

Breaking into houses, shattering windows, and forcefully entering doors became his routine. The victims, now more vigilant and security-conscious, provided a challenge, but it only added to Heeseung's irritation. The once-satisfying acts now felt like mere inconveniences.

Yet, amidst the chaos he orchestrated, it was your avoidance that annoyed him the most. His thoughts often circled back to you, wondering why you resisted him. But Heeseung was patient, confident that you would come back to him when you were ready. In the twisted game he played, he reveled in the idea that you were the ultimate prize, and he would wait for you, no matter how long it took.

Your POV:

The living room was cloaked in the soft glow of the television, casting a warm ambience across the room. Your little brother was off with his friends, and your mother was at work, leaving you alone with the flickering images on the screen. The news report unfolded the grim tale of the ongoing murders in the town, and the recent revelation that there were now two Ghostfaces haunting the community.

You sat on the couch, your gaze fixed on the television, absorbing every detail. The news broadcast showcased a video feed capturing both Ghostfaces in action. One of them stood in the clear, the camera capturing the entirety of his menacing presence. Dressed in a black cloak, a twisted white mask concealed his identity, and a blood-stained knife gleamed menacingly in his hand as he brazenly entered a house with a chilling lack of remorse.

The other Ghostface remained elusive, shrouded in darkness. Only the stark white of his mask and the glint of his knife were discernible. As the camera focused on him, a sinister head tilt added an eerie touch to his enigmatic presence. The screen abruptly went dark, as if the Ghostface had severed the connection with a swift, calculated move.

"The police has stated that the evidence is pointing that the right one is the original Ghostface because of his tendencies, proving that Kim Beomseok was indeed innocent and just a pawn in his game," the newswoman declared, her voice delivering the weighty verdict. A sigh escaped your lips, acknowledging the familiarity of Heeseung's distinctive traits.

"The real Ghostface is still out there, and he has an accomplice. We advise people to set a curfew and lock your doors and windows tight," the news woman continued, her words an ominous warning that echoed through the room.

As the news segued into weather updates, you took a moment to exhale the tension that had gripped you.

As the disconcerting reality settled, your phone pierced the silence with an unknown caller. A frown creased your forehead as you scrunched your nose in distaste, swiftly ending the call. You rose, moving toward the television, the haunting images of the Ghostfaces still fresh in your mind. With a click, you turned off the TV, leaving the room in profound darkness.

Navigating through the obscurity, you made your way to the kitchen. Refusing to turn on the lights, you reached for a kitchen knife, a cold metal reassurance in your hand. Seated on a barstool, you waited in the inky silence.

A persistent ring pierced the quietude, emanating from your phone, held tightly in your grasp. As the call persisted, you let it ring, the vibration against your palm a rhythmic reminder of impending danger. Finally, with a stoic resolve, you answered, the chill in your voice unmistakable.

"Hello," you uttered, devoid of emotion, bracing for the encounter with the dark voice on the other end. The subtle distortion revealed the use of a voice changer, heightening the malevolence of the conversation.

"Hello, Y/N," the voice responded, a sinister greeting that sent a shiver down your spine. "Hello, Ghostface, or should I say fake Ghostface?" you retorted, a flicker of defiance in your tone.

"Clever, aren't you? I can see why you beat the master," the voice acknowledged, "Master?" you uttered.

"Yes, master. I admire him so much, you know? When he first started killing, I was appalled. But now? I see why he likes this career," the voice confessed, unveiling a twisted admiration for the chaos that had gripped the town.

"That's disgusting," you spat out, a visceral reaction to the perverse admiration for a killer. "Hm, I suppose so. But I don't really care what you think. Now that I have proven myself worthy as a killer, I wanted to see what the deal with you was," the voice continued, unapologetic in its admission.

As the unsettling conversation unfolded, the voice delved into a sinister curiosity about your resilience against Ghostface's attacks. "Why couldn't he kill you, what's so special about you?" the voice probed, drawing out a chilling anticipation.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself, asshole?" you retorted. The voice responded with a laugh. "You know, I think I will accept that proposition happily. Here I come, bitch," the voice declared before abruptly ending the call. The air thickened with impending danger, and in the shadows, you braced yourself for the approaching storm, armed with nothing but a kitchen knife and a heart hardened.

A crash shattered the stillness, drawing your attention to the source of the disturbance. The garden chair outside had been hurled into the room, breaking the window. With a blink, the ominous silhouette of Ghostface materialized in the hallway, a figure you instinctively knew wasn't Heeseung. Dread coiled in your stomach, a chilling realization that terrorized you.

This Ghostface was different, shorter and less imposing than Heeseung. The masked intruder charged toward you, a gleaming knife in hand, and quick thinking became your ally.

With a swift motion, you leaped onto the kitchen counter, rolled to the other side, and seized the faucet. A torrent of water erupted, drenching Ghostface. Choking and gurgling sounds punctuated the air as he struggled against the unexpected assault. You turned off the water, before you darted into the living room.

Jumping over the couch, you retrieved the gun stowed beneath it, a precautionary measure your mother had taken. You aimed the gun, and fired. The bullet found its mark, and Ghostface howled in pain, an unfamiliar vulnerability beneath the mask.

As you stood, rounding the couch, you stared down at the wounded assailant. "Is that your best? Come on," you taunted, kicking away the knife that had posed a lethal threat.

Ghostface's gaze bore into yours before he lunged, toppling you to the ground. Pain reverberated through your head as it collided with the floor. The masked intruder mounted you, hands closing around your throat. Panic surged, but you fought back, grappling with his wrists, desperately trying to pry him off.

"You bitch!" Ghostface spat, the voice changer momentarily silent, revealing a clear, angered voice. A punch landed on your face, pain blossoming as the assault continued. In the struggle, you glimpsed the kitchen knife near your leg. An opportunity for self-defense emerged, and you seized it without hesitation, driving the blade into Ghostface's back.

His scream echoed through the room as he released his grip. You kicked him away, scrambling to a safe distance. Blood stained the floor, a testament to the violence that had unfolded. Ghostface, weakened and desperate, retreated through the back door, leaving a crimson trail in his wake.

Gasping for breath, you clutched your phone, dialing the police. In the aftermath of the struggle, you summoned the courage to make an unexpected call. Heeseung's voice, warm and familiar, filled your ears. "Hello? Angel?" he greeted.

"Heeseung... he came. Ghostface came," you uttered, your voice strained and hoarse. "Shit. I'm coming, just hang on," Heeseung's determined response resonated through the line. The door slammed shut, signaling his departure.

"I beat him. He called me and broke in. And I fought against him," you whispered. "Good, good. I'm so proud of you, baby," Heeseung reassured, his words a soothing balm in the aftermath of the storm.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The street outside your house was a tableau of flashing lights and uniformed officers, a reminder of the recent chaos. Sitting on the doorstep, you stared into the scene. However, a ray of relief pierced through the gloom as Heeseung came sprinting toward you.

His presence, a beacon of comfort, ignited a rush of happiness within you. Without a second thought, you leaped into his arms, seeking solace in his embrace. Tears flowed freely as Heeseung held you close, his arms a haven that shielded you. He rubbed your back soothingly, whispering words of reassurance.

As your cries subsided, Heeseung gently pulled back, his gaze scanning your face. Anguish flickered in his eyes as he beheld the bruises and the haunting marks around your throat. "He did this?" Heeseung questioned, a simmering anger beneath his words. You could only nod in response.

Suddenly, Heeseung scooped you up in a bridal embrace, determination etched across his features. "Heeseung! What are you doing?" you protested, clinging to his neck. "Taking you with me. No way I'm leaving you alone with him running around," he declared, his voice laced with protective fervor. Concern for your safety outweighed all other considerations.

"What about my mom and brother?" you inquired. "They have the police. I only care about your safety," Heeseung asserted. "Heeseung!" you pleaded, a mix of desperation and loyalty.

"What? It's the truth," he responded. "They are my family!" you insisted. After a moment, he relented, "Alright, just let me have you now." With a resigned sigh, you agreed.

Upon reaching Heeseung's house, weariness clung to you like a heavy shroud, as he guided you to his bedroom, gently laying you down. You looked up at him, the exhaustion apparent in your eyes. Heeseung settled beside you, drawing you into an intimate embrace. "I'm here now, angel," he whispered, his words a tender promise of protection.

As he held you close, the weight of the night's events settled on Heeseung's shoulders. The realization that the other Ghostface had dared to touch you, to harm you, ignited a storm of rage within him. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, once gentle, now burned with a fierce hatred and anger.

A possessive fervor took hold of Heeseung as he held you close, not leaving even the slightest room for air to pass between you. His arms wrapped around you like an impenetrable shield, a silent declaration that he would do whatever it took to keep you safe. The rage within him was a primal force, fueled by the audacity of someone else daring to harm what belonged to him.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow in Heeseung's bedroom. As you stirred from your slumber, the remnants of sleep clinging to your consciousness, you found the bed beside you empty. A quick scan of the room revealed no sign of Heeseung. The only evidence of his presence was the lingering scent of his cologne on the sheets.

With a yawn, you shuffled out of the bedroom, following the enticing aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. Descending the stairs, you found Heeseung in the kitchen, effortlessly moving between stove and counterto.

"Good morning, baby," he greeted you with a warm smile, his attention momentarily diverted from the sizzling pan.

"Morning," you mumbled, still half in a dream, and made your way to the table. The aroma of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, enticing you to partake in the morning feast.

After a satisfying breakfast, Heeseung trailed besides you as you made your way to school. His hoodie enveloped you in its warmth, and the oversized sweatpants added a touch of casual comfort.

Entering the school grounds, the attention directed at you was palpable. Whispers and glances followed your every step, the events of the previous night etched into the collective consciousness of your peers. Heeseung's proximity only intensified the scrutiny, and you couldn't escape the awareness of being the center of attention.

Reaching your locker, Heeseung leaned casually against the row of lockers, his arm sliding around you. You retrieved your books, the cool metal of the locker a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. The hallway buzzed with the muted sounds of conversation, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

As the first class commenced, you found yourself alone, the comforting presence of Heeseung absent from your side. However, the second class brought a familiar face. Taehyung joined you, though something seemed off. His usually vibrant demeanor was replaced by a subtle shadow of unease.

"Are you okay?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. Taehyung glanced at you, attempting to muster a reassuring smile. "Me? I'm fine, totally fine," he replied, but the words seemed to lack conviction. Opting not to press further, you turned your attention to the board, though a lingering worry for your friend remained in the back of your mind.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The school halls were mostly deserted, the echo of chatter and laughter fading as you walked towards the bustling cafeteria. Your steps were purposeful, the anticipation of meeting Heeseung pulling you forward. The usual hustle and bustle of students had already subsided, the majority having rushed ahead to the cafeteria while you were held back by a teacher, discussing assignments and grades.

The silence enveloped you as you neared the cafeteria, the muted sounds of your own footsteps echoing through the corridor.

However, before you could reach the bustling cafeteria, you were abruptly halted. The sudden impact against the cold wall sent a jolt through you, and you found yourself face to face with a group of popular girls from the school. Led by Yeowang, their accusatory stares bore into you.

"You think you are so mighty, don't you? Taking Heeseung for yourself?!" Yeowang accused, her tone dripping with venom. Confusion furrowed your brow as you attempted to make sense of the unwarranted confrontation. "What are you talking about?" you questioned.

"You know exactly what she's talking about!" Jiwoo chimed in, her expression equally accusatory. Yeowang, the self-proclaimed leader, sneered at you. "What's even so special about you, huh? You survived two killers, oh, big deal. I can do that with a hand tied around my back!"

Annoyance welled up within you, and you retorted, "Then why don't you try it, huh? Try not being murdered!" With a defiant push, you attempted to distance yourself from the confrontation.

In response, Yeowang's rage peaked, and she raised her hand, ready to strike you. However, before the blow could land, a strong grip clasped around her wrist, halting the impending assault. Heeseung stood there, a storm brewing in his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" Heeseung's voice was deceptively calm, a dangerous edge underscoring his words. "Heeseung! I—I... it's not what you think! Uh, Y/n pushed me, and I simply wanted to go against her in self-defense!" Yeowang stuttered in her attempt to justify her actions, but Heeseung's glare pierced through her excuses. "Really? I thought you were better than that," he remarked, releasing her wrist.

"Now, I'm going to be nice and ignore the fact that you were hurting Y/N. Now go before I change my mind," he commanded, and the girls scattered, leaving you standing there in shock.

As the commotion subsided, Heeseung turned to you, his gaze softening. He came in front of you, looking you over with concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with an underlying intensity.

"Yes, I'm fine," you responded, still processing the unexpected turn of events, grateful for Heeseung's timely intervention.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The midday sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow on the bustling scene within. Animated conversations echoed off the walls, punctuated by the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of the air conditioner. The air was alive with the energy of students engrossed in various discussions and activities.

Seated at your desk, you attempted to immerse yourself in the lesson, the teacher's voice a constant presence in the background. However, a fatigue gradually crept over you, shrouding your senses in a hazy fog. Desperate to shake off the encroaching drowsiness, you blinked repeatedly, but each blink seemed to weigh heavier on your eyelids.

As you struggled to maintain focus, the ambient noise surrounding you took on an underwater quality. Conversations became muffled, as if distorted by an unseen force. Your vision blurred, and the edges of your consciousness began to dissolve into an indistinct haze. Fingers twitched involuntarily, a subtle tremor that hinted at the overwhelming weariness settling into your bones. Someone in the distance called your name, the words reaching you like a distant echo, detached and surreal.

The world around you seemed to fade, and a sense of weightlessness accompanied the descent into the beckoning darkness.

And then, like the closing of heavy curtains, everything collapsed, and you surrendered to the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

In that silent realm of blackness, time seemed to hold its breath. There were no whispers of conversation, no distant echoes. Only the profound stillness of an unconscious mind.

As your eyes fluttered open, the sterile environment of the nurse's office came into focus. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the antiseptic scent in the air signaled your departure from the realm of unconsciousness. Confusion clouded your thoughts momentarily, and you glanced around, realizing you were lying on the medical bed.

The nurse, a calming presence in the room, sat on a nearby chair and noticed you had woken up. "Hello, dear. You caused quite a commotion," she said with a gentle smile. "I did?" Her response was a nod, and a blush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. "Oh..." you mumbled in response.

Offering reassurance, the nurse continued, "It's alright. Your boyfriend brought you here." She handed you a cup of juice, and you sipped it slowly. "My boyfriend?" you echoed in surprise. "Yes, he's sitting right outside," she replied, gesturing toward the waiting area. "Now, you've got to be more careful with your health. I would rather not panic seeing you lifeless in a boy's arms," she added with a chuckle before returning to her duties at the computer.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you finished the juice, tossed the empty cup into the trash, and made your way out of the nurse's office. Heeseung was sitting in the waiting area, and you couldn't help but wonder why he had taken the time to be there for you. "What are you doing here?" you questioned, genuinely curious.

Heeseung stood up, his eyes meeting yours as he came to your side immediately. "Waiting for you," he responded, slipping a warm hand around your waist. A genuine smile played on his lips as he guided you back, and you felt a rush of butterflies in your stomach. "You didn't need to do that," you insisted softly.

"I wanted to," he replied, the sincerity evident in his gaze. His smile, directed solely at you, held a rare genuineness that made you feel special.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The days rolled on, and a fragile sense of normalcy returned. Heeseung, reassured by the absence of the other Ghostface's threat, let his guard down. The watchful eyes of the police gave a semblance of security to the neighborhood, and you gradually began to resume a routine.

However, the peace you found at home sharply contrasted with the ongoing trials at school. The popular girls, harboring resentment, made your life difficult. Yeowang, reached new lows, and took pleasure in subtle but malicious acts when Heeseung or any of his friends weren't around. She denied her involvement even when confronted, weaving intricate lies with a practiced ease.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You entered your bedroom after a long day when you noticed an unexpected arrangement on your bed. A bouquet of red, white, and blue roses intertwined with each other, creating a harmonious blend of colors, alongside a box of chocolates, awaited your attention. A simple blue wrapping adorned with a pristine white bow encased a mysterious gift.

The floral fragrance filled the air as you lifted the bouquet, appreciating the delicate beauty of each bloom. Satisfied, you set the flowers aside and turned your attention to the box of chocolates. To your delight, it contained your favorite type.

Your curiosity piqued further as you unwrapped the main gift, revealing a sleek black butterfly knife adorned with golden designs. The handles, featured elegant white angel wings. Eager to explore its intricacies, you attempted a playful flick, only to fumble and drop it onto your bed. "Ow!" you exclaimed, shaking off the momentary sting.

Recovering swiftly, you spotted a note at the bottom of the gift. Retrieving it, you read the words inscribed: "For my angel, love Heeseung." A smile played on your lips at the gesture.

Grateful for the unexpected present, you promptly reached for your phone to express your appreciation. "Thank you for the gifts; I loved them. And i will not ask how you got them in," you messaged Heeseung.

Almost instantaneously, his reply arrived, "You're welcome, princess. And don't worry. I will teach you how to use it." His words sparked a conversation that extended into the night. As you exchanged messages, the hour grew late, prompting you to bid Heeseung a good night. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Heeseung," you typed. His response, "Good night, angel. Make sure to lock your windows," came promptly. Following his advice, you secured the windows before settling into bed.

A new message from Heeseung flashed on your screen, simply stating, "Good girl." You gulped, the message sent a subtle thrill down your spine. A peculiar warmth, a delightful tickle, settled in your stomach as you read those two simple words.

You glanced toward the window, half-expecting to find something beyond the glass. The room was dimly lit, shadows playing on the walls, and the soft glow of the moonlight casting a gentle ambiance.

With a hint of curiosity, you studied the windows, half-expecting it to reveal a mysterious figure with a playful presence. The night air outside was still, and the surroundings seemed undisturbed. Yet, the lingering echo of "Good girl" resonated in your mind, creating an air of suspense that you found oddly thrilling.

Taking a deep breath, you shook off the imaginary tension, and changed into comfortable pajamas, sliding under the covers with the butterfly knife on your nightstand. Examining it closely, you noticed the intricately carved initials of your name and Heeseung's on the handles. A quiet gasp escaped your lips. The unexpected yet incredibly thoughtful touch sent a rush of warmth through you, a gentle smile played on your lips as you marveled at the personalized detail. With a satisfied sigh, you carefully placed it back on the nightstand.

The room dimmed as you turned off the lights, and you layed in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

In the unsettling ebb and flow of high school dynamics, the once vibrant halls of the school now seemed shadowed by the undercurrents of hostility. Every step felt like a careful dance to avoid the traps set by the popular girls. Despite Heeseung's protective presence, their relentless efforts to undermine you continued.

On top of that Taehyung's behavior grew increasingly intrusive, his advances becoming more pronounced in class and the halls. His proximity became uncomfortable, and the boundary between friendliness and invasion blurred.

His persistence in getting close to you prompted a growing sense of unease. The lingering feeling of being watched whenever he was nearby compelled you to take measures to avoid him altogether. The hallways became a maze where you strategically maneuvered to sidestep encounters with Taehyung, who seemed determined to bridge a gap that you were intent on widening.

Despite your efforts to dodge him, Taehyung's persistence continued. Another time, in the empty school hallway, he cornered you near the lockers. "You know, you're pretty when you're mad," he commented.

Feeling trapped, you shot him a glare. "Enough, Taehyung. I'm not interested, and your comments are not welcome. Back off."

His giggles echoed as you walked away, determined to distance yourself from hiseerie behavior.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As the days unfolded, you couldn't shake the lingering sense that, despite the calm on the surface, there were storm clouds gathering on the horizon, threatening to disrupt the fragile peace you desperately sought.

The news continued to broadcast the chilling saga of the two Ghostfaces haunting the town. The police, growing more frustrated by the escalating body count, struggled to apprehend the elusive killers. Each new report fueled the anxiety that had settled over the community.

You found yourself caught in the relentless grip of fear once again, the shadow of Ghostfaces looming larger than ever. The unpredictable nature of his attacks had everyone on edge, and you couldn't shake the feeling that the danger was closing in.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was adapting to the heightened scrutiny and frustration of the police. When he wore the Ghostface costume, he became more cautious, stalking his victims for extended periods before making his move. The cat-and-mouse game between him and the authorities intensified, a dangerous dance in the moonlit shadows.

The other Ghostface seemed to be taking a page from Heeseung's book, growing more careful and methodical in his approach. However, unlike Heeseung's relatively clean crime scenes, this Ghostface left behind a gruesome trail of blood. The brutality escalated, leaving a mark that horrified even the most seasoned investigators.

One night, a particularly disturbing message written in blood on a crime scene wall sent shivers down your spine: "For you, Ghostface." The implication was clear, and it left you feeling creeped out. Heeseung, upon seeing this gruesome display, was impressed by the audacity.

But had the other Ghostface not gone after you, Heeseung might have entertained the idea of an unholy alliance, a partnership in chaos. But now, with the line crossed, Heeseung's desire for revenge burned bright. This town, in his eyes, had room for only one killer, and the other Ghostface had just signed his own death warrant.

Friday Night:

In the opulent confines of Yeowang's mansion, a sleepover took place, an event initiated by the absence of Yeowang's parents for the weekend, her closest friends—Hyo-jin, Yoo-mi, Hayeong, and Jiwoo was present. The night started late, as the girls gathered in the spacious living room adorned with lavish furnishings. The girls huddled on the plush sofa, draped in cozy blankets, their laughter echoing against the opulent walls. A large flat-screen TV, mounted like a work of art, illuminated the room, showcasing the latest news broadcast featuring the ongoing Ghostface killings and investigations.

As they bantered and gossiped, Jiwoo, known for her audacious comments, couldn't help but interject with her own peculiar observation. "Ghostface is hot, actually," she declared, earning incredulous looks from the others. Hayeong, ever the voice of reason, promptly dismissed the notion. "Okay first of all, that's a killer. Second, you have a boyfriend, and besides, he's masked! You don't even know how he looks!"

"So? I can see it," Jiwoo retorted, undeterred. Hyo-jin, more observant than the rest, interjected, " There are two Ghostfaces. Which one is hotter?"

The room fell momentarily silent as the girls processed this, their eyes fixated on the TV where two distinct images of the masked killers were displayed. Jiwoo, with her usual nonchalant demeanor, broke the silence. "Oh…both, I guess? I mean, look at them!" she exclaimed, pointing animatedly at the screen.

"You are crazy," Hyo-jin remarked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Unbeknownst to the others, Yeowang found herself oddly conflicted, silently acknowledging Jiwoo's point but reluctant to admit that she, too, felt an inexplicable allure to the enigmatic figures behind the masks.

The mood took a sharp turn when Hayeong, attempting to shift the conversation, brought up your name that immediately ignited Yeowang's fury. "I can't believe that Y/N is the only one who survived both of them," she stated, a heavy silence enveloping the room. Yeowang's reaction was visceral—her anger palpable, manifested by the shattering of a vase against the wall.

"That whore does not deserve it!" Yeowang's scream reverberated through the expansive mansion. "She survived two killers and suddenly got famous! She got Heeseung! It's unfair! What does she have that I don't?!" Yeowang's accusatory glare swept across the room, her friends taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"You are in my house! You will not mention her name!" Yeowang's command echoed, punctuating the room with a tense energy. The other girls, startled and intimidated, nodded in compliance. "Got it, we will not say her name," they meekly replied, an air of discomfort settling over the once lively sleepover.

The night pressed on, and Hayeong, feeling a stifling warmth in the crowded room, decided to excuse herself. She climbed the stairs to the bathroom, her steps a subtle echo against the hushed whispers of her friends below. Her nimble fingers worked silently to ease open the window, allowing fresh air in.

As she called her boyfriend, the cool breeze that wafted in cooled her down, "Kwan, why don't you come over? I'm too bored here, and I miss you," she whispered into the phone, her voice a delicate secret. "I'll be right there, baby," Kwan's voice assured her from the other end before he hung u.

Hayeong emerged from the bathroom and, like a phantom, slipped to the dimly-lit garage. There, waiting in the shadows, was her boyfriend's car.

Closing the garage door behind her, she got into the passenger seat, and the car became a heated session as they made out. "What do you think about ditching and coming over to mine?" Kwan proposed. "Sure, let me just tell the others," Hayeong replied, sealing her fate as she returned to the oblivious gathering in the living room.

She informed her friends of her departure, and Yeowang's dismissive response lingered in the air like an unspoken omen.

Hayeong retrieved her belongings and, with a roll of her eyes, made her way back to the secluded garage.

As she settled into the car, the illusion of safety shattered, she turned to face her boyfriend, only for her face to twist into sheer horror at the sight of his lifeless form. Panic set in, and before she could scream, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling any sound.

The rearview mirror reflected the ghostly visage of a white mask, and the glint of a knife spelled impending doom. A searing pain erupted in her stomach. The garbled scream of her pain was stifled as the hand tightened its grip, and though she fought against the assailant's grip, her strength waned.

Disoriented and weakened, Hayeong clawed her way out of the car, her hands leaving smears of blood on the cold concrete floor. Ghostface emerged from the backseat, his movements deliberate and silent, carefully closing the car door behind him. The shadows draped him in an impenetrable cloak as he advanced, following the crimson trail left by Hayeong.

With calculated precision, Ghostface struck again, the knife finding its mark in Hayeong's back. Her weak cries echoed in the garage, a desperate plea for mercy. She twisted her body on the ground, lying on her back, staring up at Ghostface, she saw only the impassive mask that hid the face of her killer.

Each breath she took seemed to expel the last vestiges of life, accompanied by the gasping for breath as blood bubbled from her mouth.

Lying on the garage floor, Hayeong's gaze fixed on the unforgiving concrete ceiling. Blood continued to spill, and the last vestiges of life slipped away. Ghostface, unaffected by her suffering, simply stared down at his victim before pocketing the blood-stained knife. Then he dragged Hayeong's lifeless form with him, leaving behind the scene of horror in the quiet garage.

The encompassing darkness welcomed him as he stuffed the corpses in the trunk of the car before leaving the garage to guard its grisly secret, the echoes of Hayeong and her boyfriend's final moments lingering in the air.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The sleepover had transformed into a scene of collective ennui, the girls sprawled across the living room, eyes glued to the blaring horror movie on the screen. The volume was cranked up to its maximum, attempting to infuse some excitement into the lackluster atmosphere. Jiwoo, the embodiment of impatience, couldn't contain her discontent. "I'm bored!" she declared, punctuating her statement with an animated kick of her feet, reminiscent of a spoiled child. Yoo-mi, joining the chorus of dissatisfaction, drawled, "Me toooo," her words elongated in a languid manner. Hyo-jin, the silent participant, simply nodded in agreement.

In the midst of this collective restlessness, Yeowang, always quick with a plan, had an idea to salvage the night. "Why don't I invite Kwangsun and Joonwoo?" she suggested, eyeing an opportunity to inject some life into the gathering. Jiwoo, seizing the chance to involve her boyfriend, Minho, eagerly chimed in, "Oh! Can I invite Minho then?" Yoo-mi, with a hint of skepticism, interjected, "You're just gonna fuck him!" Jiwoo, undeterred, stuck her tongue out at Yoo-mi, and Yeowang, with a roll of her eyes, relented, "Yeah, sure, invite him too."

Overjoyed, Jiwoo leaped to her feet, celebrating the approved invitation. "You mean it??" she questioned, to which Yeowang simply nodded in affirmation. "Yes!" Jiwoo exclaimed, immediately reaching for her phone to call Minho. Concurrently, Yeowang composed messages to Kwangsun and Joonwoo, both of whom promptly confirmed their attendance.

As the clock edged towards 1 AM, signaling the arrival of the anticipated guests, a resonant doorbell rang through the apartment. Hyo-jin, assigned the role of the door opener, took a moment to peek through the peephole, ensuring that it was indeed the boys behind the door.

The door swung open, revealing Kwangsun, Joonwoo, and Minho, boisterous and full of energy. They entered the room with a flourish, bearing beer and loud shouts, injecting a burst of life into the previously lethargic atmosphere. Jiwoo, unable to contain her excitement, screeched Minho's name and leaped into his waiting arms.

The group settled on the couch, drinks in hand, and laughter filling the air. Amidst the lively atmosphere, Hyo-jin rose from her seat with the announcement, "I'm going out for a smoke." She strolled toward the front door, and closing it behind her, leaving the vibrant scene inside.

In the solitary darkness outside, she retrieved a cigarette, her fingers fumbling to find the elusive lighter. "Where is it… I knew I brought it," she mumbled, the soft glow of her phone's torch revealing her determined search. The night air wrapped around her like a shroud as she continued her quest.

A sudden sound shattered the quiet, causing Hyo-jin to startle. Swiftly, she raised her phone, its light piercing the darkness as she scanned her surroundings. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice echoing into the silent night. The beam of her torch revealed a rogue cat, its eyes glinting in the light. "Oh, it's just you," she muttered, attempting to coax the feline closer. However, the cat, seemingly spooked, scurried away from her. "Alright, fuck you then," Hyo-jin grumbled, standing up in mild annoyance.

Unbeknownst to her, Ghostface materialized in the shadows behind her, his ominous figure concealed by the night, as he approached silently. In one fluid motion, he drew a knife, it`s blade gleaming ominously. Without a sound, he effortlessly slit Hyo-jin's throat, a crimson river staining the quiet night.

Hyo-jin's eyes widened in an involuntary response to the sudden, searing pain. The cigarette that once dangled between her lips fell with a gentle thud to the cold ground.

Her body, suspended in that surreal moment between life and death, crumpled forward.

Ghostface stood over his lifeless victim, a silent spectator to the masterpiece he had orchestrated. The night seemed to hold its breath as he lingered momentarily, the mask concealing any hint of emotion. The cool breeze whispered through the darkness, indifferent to the gruesome scene playing out beneath its veil.

With an eerie calmness, Ghostface began his next calculated move. He crouched beside Hyo-jin's motionless body, drawing her into the shadows with a predatory grace. The crimson trail she left behind became a haunting testament to the brutality that had transpired in that quiet space.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The living room buzzed with the flickering glow of the TV as the horror movie unfolded its spine-chilling narrative. The remaining group sat together, the pale glow casting shadows across their faces.

As the credits rolled, someone in the group suggested putting on another horror movie. The group agreed, and the atmosphere in the room became tense once again. Just then, Jiwoo suddenly stood up, pulling Minho with her, and declared, "We are so tired, so we'll go to bed." With that, they vanished upstairs, the closing door shutting out any response from the rest of the group.

Yeowang, an observer of the unfolding events, watched Jiwoo and Minho saunter upstairs with an air of disapproval. Rolling her eyes, she leaned toward Yoo-mi, lips curling into a disdainful whisper. "What a slut," Yeowang hissed, and Yoo-mi, ever the loyal companion, nodded in agreement, their suppressed laughter mingling in the dimly lit room. The two continued their hushed commentary, exchanging snickers as they reveled in the judgment they cast.

Unbeknownst to the gossiping duo, a silent figure lingered outside the window, casting a dark shadow against the night. The clandestine observer vanished into the depths of the night as Jiwoo and Minho disappeared behind the bedroom door, leaving no trace of their presence.

In the intimate confines of the bedroom, Jiwoo and Minho layed in post bliss. Jiwoo giggled playfully, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Minho, who stretched and reluctantly got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants. "Stayyy," Jiwoo pouted, her words laced with a playful plea. "Sorry, babe, gotta pop in the bathroom. I'll be right back," Minho assured her as he strolled out of the room.

Little did he know, the window, left ajar by Hayeong, served as an ominous entry point for the lurking Ghostface. As Minho locked the bathroom door, he remained oblivious to the impending danger. It was only when he glimpsed Ghostface's reflection in the mirror that realization struck, and a gasp escaped his lips, as he turned around to face his assailant.

Reacting swiftly, Ghostface threw a throwing knife with precision, embedding it in Minho's shoulder. His attempts to scream stifled by a punch to the face from the masked assailant. "Shit!" Minho exclaimed as he pushed Ghostface away, slamming the murderer against the wall.

Undeterred, Ghostface deftly retrieved the lodged knife from Minho's shoulder, brandishing it menacingly. In a swift, brutal motion, he thrust the blade into Minho's stomach, eliciting a guttural groan of pain. Minho staggered backward, only to trip over a bathroom stool.

He fell backward into the bathtub, the impact echoing through the small room. His head struck the surface, and the room filled with the sickening sound of the collision. Minho's eyes remained open, glossy and lifeless, as his blood pooled in the tub.

Ghostface, having completed his gruesome work in the bathroom, meticulously exited the confined space. Adjusting his cloak and straightening his posture, he entered the bedroom where Jiwoo lay peacefully unaware. A sinister silhouette against the dimly lit room, he stood over her, his chilling presence casting a shadow.

Lifting his arms, Ghostface brandished his knife, a glint of malice in his eyes. With a swift, deliberate motion, he plunged the blade into Jiwoo's stomach. A startled cry escaped her lips as she awoke to the nightmare before her. Desperation filled her as she attempted to retaliate, futile punches met by Ghostface's vice-like grip. The relentless onslaught continued, the repeated stabbings painting the once serene room in the stark hues of violence.

Leaving Jiwoo to bleed out on the bed, Ghostface, retraced his steps through the bathroom window, vanishing into the nocturnal abyss.

Meanwhile downsatirs, Yoo-mi, feeling a growing unease, ventured outside through the front door to check on Hyo-jin. Upon her return, she delivered the unsettling news, "Hey, Hyo-jin isn't outside anymore." Yeowang, quick to assume the worst, spat, "The bitch probably left us, again." Yoo-mi, concerned, muttered, "I don't know, she wouldn't leave like this."

Yeowang's sharp response echoed, "Did you just talk back to me?" Yoo-mi, intimidated but determined, defended herself, "No! No! It's just... I'm worried, you know?" Reluctantly, Yeowang conceded, "Ugh, fine," and turned her attention to the boys, "Why don't you two go out and find her?" Kwangsun, defensive, questioned, "Why us?" Yeowang, dismissive, replied, "Because you two are available, and it's cold. Now, go." With a wave of her hand, she refocused on the horror movie.

Joonwo and Kwangsun reluctantly complied, with Joonwo suggesting a strategy "You go through the backdoor, I'll go through the front door, and we'll meet in the middle." As Joonwo exited the front door, Kwangsun took the backdoor route.

In the living room, Yoo-mi sought reassurance, "You think they'll be okay?" Yeowang, unfazed, assured her, "Yeah, they'll be fine."

Meanwhile, Kwangsun navigated the darkness alone, squinting to discern any signs of Hyo-jin or Joonwo. The quietude was only interrupted by the gentle whooshing of the wind past his ear. As he scanned the sky, the moon was obscured by clouds, plunging him into deeper obscurity. Unbeknownst to him, a figure trailed silently behind him. Suddenly, a searing pain tore through Kwangsun's back, and he crumpled to the ground, the merciless kick from Ghostface intensifying his agony.

As Kwangsun prepared to scream, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, revealing the lifeless form of Joonwo sprawled in front of him. Before he could react, his hair was violently yanked back, and Ghostface swiftly slit his throat, extinguishing his life.

Ghostface, rose from his crouched position, before he reached into the folds of his cloak and retrieved a phone.

As the flash erupted, momentarily piercing the darkness, Ghostface captured the haunting image of death.

However, as swiftly as the moon had revealed the morbid scene, it withdrew behind the obscuring clouds once more. The sudden darkness provided Ghostface with the perfect cover, concealing his presence as he dragged the lifeless bodies. The muted sounds of his sinister task blended with the night, and Ghostface seamlessly disappeared into the shadows.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The night hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as Yoo-mi gazed into the darkness. Her voice cut through the silence, nervous with an escalating worry, "Okay, they haven't returned. Is this the time to panic?" Yeowang, seemingly unresponsive, rose from her seat and ascended the stairs with an air of determination. "Wait!" Yoo-mi pleaded, chasing after her.

In the dimly lit corridor, Yeowang halted outside the bedroom where Jiwoo and Minho had sought refuge. She knocked on the door only to be met with an silence from within. When no response came, Yeowang's hand hesitated for a moment before pushing the door ajar. What lay beyond would etch terror into their memories.

A gut-wrenching scream erupted from Yoo-mi as the door swung open, revealing the grotesque scene within. Jiwoo's lifeless body lay sprawled across the bed, a canvas of horror painted in blood and mangled flesh. Yoo-mi staggered backward causing her to open the bathroom door, her horrified gaze shifted to the now open bathroom. There, in the unforgiving cold of the bathtub, Minho's lifeless form met her gaze. Another scream tore through the air as the grim reality of their situation became undeniable.

Distraught and overwhelmed, Yoo-mi fled down the stairs, tripping on the steps, she stumbled into the chilling embrace of the living room, her anguished cries reverberating through the desolate space.

Meanwhile, Yeowang stood frozen in the upstairs corridor, the haunting images seared into her mind. A desperate determination seized her as she rushed to her room. There, amidst the remnants of her past, she found solace in a forgotten relic—a baton adorned with hues of pink and purple, a nostalgic reminder of her gymnastics days.

Haunted by the scene she witnessed, Yeowang clutched the baton tightly, her knuckles turning white.

As she descended the staircase, a sickening scene unfolded before her eyes. Joonwo's lifeless form lay sprawled on the couch, his vacant eyes reflecting the cruel finality that had befallen him. Yoo-mi, a pitiful body on the ground, cried out in agony as blood pooled beneath her. Ghostface, loomed over her with a foot pressing her down. His attention, however, pivoted towards Yeowang, his gaze fixated on her as he swiped the blood of his knife with unnerving efficiency, his chilling laughter permeating the air.

"Welcome to the party," his voice, distorted by the chilling voice changer, sent shivers down Yeowang's spine. Desperation seized her as she clutched the baton, like an inadequate shield.

"I saved you for last," Ghostface declared with a voice distorted, before he picked up Yoo-mi only to throw her against the wall, rendering her unconscious, before turning his relentless advance towards Yeowang.

Terror gripped her as she sprinted upstairs, reaching her bedroom, she fumbled to lock the door, her trembling hands betraying the fear that gripped her. In her bedroom, she fumbled for her salvation—her phone. Panic surged through her when she realized it lay downstairs on the living room table.

A sudden shock reverberated through the door as Ghostface relentlessly sought entry. "Open the door, Yeowang," his command sliced through the air, each word dripping with sadistic pleasure.

"No!" she screamed defiantly, her trembling hands fumbling with the window latch. With a surge of courage, she swung it open, revealing a daunting drop to the pool below, a shimmering oasis in the moonlit night.

The door continued to quiver under Ghostface's relentless assault, his ominous presence closing in.

The relentless assault on the door suddenly ceased, leaving Yeowang suspended in silence. Suspicion flickered in her eyes as she cast a wary glance toward the once-quaking barrier.

Suddenly, an axe splintered through the door, hacking it down with brutal force. Yeowang's scream echoed through the room as glimpses of the menacing white mask emerged. Ghostface stared intently, his gloved hand reaching to unlock the door. Just as Yeowang prepared to leap to safety, Ghostface unleashed a primal shout, hurling a dagger that found its mark in her shoulder. The searing pain sent her crashing down, the baton slipping from her grasp.

Ghostface, a looming specter, closed in. His knife poised for the final strike, but in a desperate bid, Yeowang seized her baton, swinging it towards his masked visage. With lightning reflexes, Ghostface raised his arm, blocking the blow. The precious seconds gained allowed Yeowang to scramble to her feet, sprinting towards the window. In a daring escape, she leaped into the pool below, the cold water offering a brief respite from the nightmare.

Emerging from the water, shivering and wounded, Yeowang glanced back at the window. Ghostface was momentarily absent. Swiftly, she extracted the knife embedded in her shoulder, a cry of pain escaping her lips. With determined urgency, she clambered out of the pool, crimson tendrils diffusing into the water around her.

Fearing the masked assailant might still be lurking, Yeowang cast a desperate gaze through the window into the living room. Joonwoo's lifeless form lay undisturbed, but Yoo-mi, injured and resilient, struggled to move. Yeowang recoiled, her attention caught by the absence of the phones on the table. Panic clawed at her as she began to navigate the house, a mixture of dread and sorrow swirling within.

As she approached the front, a hidden horror awaited her. Tripping over an unseen obstacle, Yeowang tumbled to the ground. A gut-wrenching sight unfolded as she discovered the lifeless bodies of Hyo-jin and Kwangsun concealed in the bushes. Tears blurred her vision as she sprinted away, abandoning the knife in her haste.

But the escape was short-lived. Charging down the porch, Yeowang's foot snagged on something, and she plummeted forward, her head colliding with the unforgiving ground, as darkness enveloped her consciousness.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

Yeowang's eyes flickered open, and a wave of disorientation washed over her as she attempted to move, only to discover the cruel reality of her situation – she was bound, trapped in the confines of her own bedroom. The haunting scene unfolded before her eyes, her friends' lifeless bodies strewn about, including Yoo-mi, who now lay still and unresponsive.

"Help! Someone! Please!" she pleaded, her desperate cries echoing in the silence. A chair creaked, drawing her attention to the shadowy figure sitting in the corner, and as her eyes adjusted, she spotted Ghostface seated in a shadowy corner. "No one is coming to save you," he declared with a cold certainty.

Desperation clawed at Yeowang's throat, and she screamed for help, her pleas echoing through the chilling silence.

"Stop screaming," Ghostface intoned, his figure slowly rising from the chair. The voice changer distorted his response, rendering it menacing and cold.

Tethered and vulnerable, she tried to appeal to the masked figure, a last-ditch effort to elicit mercy.

"Aw, that's cute. You're begging for your life," Ghostface remarked, rising from the chair with deliberate slowness. He approached Yeowang, advancing toward her with predatory intent, and crouched down, his white mask mere inches from her terror-stricken face. He scrutinized her with a sinister curiosity, reveling in the vulnerability of his captive.

"Why did you even come? I'm innocent!" Yeowang protested, her voice carrying a hint of defiance. However, Ghostface erupted in a sudden burst of anger, his distorted voice reflecting the glitched fury within him. "Innocent!?" he bellowed, standing back up and brandishing a gleaming knife. The blade pointed menacingly at Yeowang, his accusation hung heavily in the air. "You are, in fact, not innocent. You hurt what was precious to me. Your friends paid for it, and now it's your turn."

"What was precious?... Oh, you mean Y/N?!" she exclaimed, connecting the dots. Ghostface remained stoic, only intensifying the aura of menace. In a tense exchange, "Listen! It was just for fun! Just a game you kow?" Yeowang attempted to justify her actions, only to be met with Ghostface's stoic silence.

The truth, a bitter pill, surfaced—Ghostface's obsession with Y/n, was a possessive love that bordered on madness.

"Why do you even care? Didn't you try and kill her at first?" Yeowang spat, her defiance resurfacing. A hesitancy lingered in the room as she dared to pose a crucial question. "You are the first Ghostface, aren't you?" Ghostface nodded affirmatively, acknowledging his origin. "I am the first... and I care because she's mine. I own Y/N, and she owns my heart and soul. I would do anything to keep her happy," he declared, a rare glimpse into the twisted motivation that fueled his actions.

With an ominous deliberateness, Ghostface removed the clasps securing his mask, revealing the face beneath. A shockwave of horror coursed through Yeowang as recognition set in. "Heeseung?!" she screeched, attempting to recoil from the revelation. "It's been you this entire time!? But why?" she demanded, her voice a desperate plea for answers.

"You've watched enough horror movies, Yeowang, to know there's always motives. Mine is just personal," Heeseung uttered, his voice devoid of remorse.

With an almost mechanical precision, Heeseung adorned the Ghostface mask once again. The chilling transformation marked the end of any semblance of humanity, like a switch flipped between the person behind the mask and the ruthless harbinger of terror. The room became a theater of agony as Ghostface thrust the knife into Yeowang's chest, cruelly twisting it for maximum torment before extracting it with a grisly finality. Yeowang's agonized screams pierced the air, echoing in the chamber of death. Desperation gripped her as she struggled to draw breath, yet the encroaching numbness signaled the approach of death.

"Party's over," Ghostface declared. The last flicker of Yeowang's life bore witness to the white mask, as she accepted death.

In the aftermath, Ghostface lingered, a silent witness to the massacre of death he had orchestrated. With a swift, practiced motion, he swiped his knife, cleansing the blood before he departed the room with a purposeful stride, descending into the shadows.

Leaving the house behind, Ghostface embarked on a solitary journey into the night.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As you sat on the couch, playing with your brother by your side, the tranquility of the day was shattered by the intrusive news spreading like wildfire throughout the city. The television broadcasted the shocking report, detailing the gruesome massacre that had occurred during the sleepover.

The once-grand mansion was now a crime scene, adorned with police tape that crisscrossed the entire property, and law enforcement vehicles surrounded the premises. Your eyes were fixed on the television screen, shock etched across your face as the news reporter stood in front of the crime scene.

"We have received reports that the victims have been identified as Kang Hyo-jin, Shin Jiwoo, Kang Minho, Bong Kwangsun, Kim Junwoo, Choi Hayeong, Park Yoo-mi, Jung Kwan, and Jeon Yeowang," the reporter solemnly announced, the weight of each name resonating in the air. The police inspector, Do-shik, stood by her side, his weary expression a testament to the magnitude of the tragedy.

"We have reason to believe that this is the work of our first Ghostface, by the pattern he executed in this mindless slaughter," Do-shik disclosed, his words sending a chill down your spine. The news reporter pressed for answers about the actions being taken for the grieving families, and Do-shik, burdened by the responsibility, assured justice and respect for the victims.

As the conversation continued, the realization that Heeseung, had committed these heinous acts sank in. The numbness enveloped you, making it difficult to comprehend the gravity of the situation. You couldn't fathom how he managed to execute such a massacre in a single night without being apprehended.

"Y/N?" Your brother's voice broke through your reverie, and you felt the physical sensation of being shaken. "Wha-?" you mumbled, your mind struggling to process the information. "Are you okay? You didn't answer me," he inquired, concern etched on his face. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay," you responded.

"I need to get some air," you declared, rising from the couch and leaving the house without uttering another word. The weight of the revelations pressed down on you as you stepped into the open air.

The streets stretched before you as you navigated through the town, each step resonating with the echo of your conflicted emotions. Eventually the sunlight began to wane, casting long shadows across the pavement, and the familiar sights of the town started to transform under the softening hues of dusk.

As you meandered through the streets, you found yourself drawn to a nearby park. The familiar landscape offered a temporary refuge, and you made a spontaneous decision to linger. You gravitated towards a swing set, the rhythmic creaking accompanying the subtle sounds of nature.

Time seemed to blur as you swung back and forth, the gentle breeze carrying whispers of the day.

As the day transitioned into evening, you checked your phone to find it was already 8PM. A notification from your mom appeared, a reminder that cut through the quiet of the moment. She requested you to stop by the grocery store if you had time. The responsibility tugged at your thoughts, and you agreed to her request, assuring her that you would take care of the groceries.

Leaving the swing set behind, you walked away from the park, your surroundings bathed in the amber glow of streetlights beginning to flicker to life. The town retained a semblance of activity; a few people strolled on the sidewalks, and cars passed by intermittently.

Deep in contemplation, you traversed the familiar routes until, almost unconsciously, your steps led you to Heeseung's house in the outskirts of town. Heeseung, an adult living alone, bore the scars of a fractured family, his mother absent, and his father, a figure you suspected was better off beneath the earth.

His residence, an isolated abode, stood silent against the backdrop of the night. You knocked, and the hush persisted for a moment, fostering the fleeting notion that perhaps he wasn't home. Just as the doubt crept in, the shuffling of feet reached your ears, and the door swung open to reveal Heeseung. The dampness in his hair suggested a recent shower, and the grin on his face faded into a look of surprise when he noticed your serious expression.

"Angel," he greeted, the warmth in his voice attempting to breach the solemn atmosphere. "Can we talk?" you asked, your tone cutting through the casual air. Heeseung's surprise deepened, and he nodded, inviting you in. The door closed behind you, shutting out the outside world, and you were met with the soft patter of paws reaching your ears, and you saw Dongsik, Heeseung's cat, racing towards you. You knelt down, lifting the feline into your arms.

Settling in the living room, you cradled Dongsik in your lap, stroking his fur. The weight of the conversation hung in the air as you mustered the courage to address the chilling reality. "Heeseung… I saw the news," you began, your voice steady.

"You did not need to kill them," you asserted, hoping for a flicker of remorse in Heeseung's gaze. However, his eyes bore no trace of regret. "They deserved it. They hurt you, and I hurt them back," he stated, his nonchalant demeanor sending a chill down your spine.

Rising from his seated position, Heeseung advanced towards you, his movements fluid yet purposeful. As he closed the distance, his hand gently cradled your chin, tilting your head upward. The touch was possessive, his fingers warm against your skin, yet there was an underlying intensity that betrayed the dark determination within him.

In that moment, his eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a darker, inscrutable depth.

"I made them regret every breathing the same air as you," he murmured, the words laden with a sinister satisfaction. His voice, usually a source of reassurance, now carried an unsettling edge. His gaze traced a path across your face, studying each contour as if searching for a reaction.

Caught in the intensity of his gaze, you couldn't help but gulp, the sound echoing in the charged silence. His eyes, fixated on your lips, followed the subtle movement as your tongue moistened them.

But you couldn't let the gravity of his actions escape scrutiny. Stepping back, you placed Dongsik on the ground and distanced yourself. "I do not want you to proceed with this," you implored, your voice tinged with urgency. "What if you get caught? Have you ever thought about that?" you questioned, your concern etched on your face. Heeseung, however, dismissed your fears with unwavering confidence. "I won't get caught. Trust me. I'm careful."

The proximity of his hands, once stained with the blood of others, triggered a sense of unease. "No, Heeseung, I can't do this now," you declared, your voice faltering. "I can't continue doing this."

"What?" Heeseung asked, his surprise mirroring the gravity of your words. "This, whatever we have? This? It's over!" you cried out, your emotions spilling over. Heeseung's gaze narrowed, the intensity of his feelings clashing with the sudden turn of events. "Angel, you can't—" he began, but you cut him off.

"You won't let me break up, but I can't bear you killing people!" you exclaimed, your words echoing in the room. The reality of grieving families planning funerals weighed heavily on your conscience. "You have let out a curse on this town, and for what? What is your motive, Heeseung? Why do you murder?" you demanded, your frustration boiling over.

"It's none of your business!" Heeseung retorted, his defensive stance highlighting the growing tension. "So you don't trust me? Is that it?" you questioned, the hurt evident in your eyes. "No, that's not it, baby, please," Heeseung pleaded, attempting to reach for you. However, you recoiled, creating a physical and emotional distance. "No, that's exactly what it is, isn't it? How can I trust you when you don't even trust me?" you articulated.

"A murderer kills because they are crazy, right? How do I know that you won`t kill me eventually?" you posed the unnerving question, the gravity of the situation casting a shadow over the room. "Yeah, this is all a game for you, isn't it? Trick me, then hurt me, and finish me off, right?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you clutched your hair in frustration.

"God, I wish you had just killed me!" you shouted, the anguish and frustration consuming you. With those words hanging in the air, you ran out the door, tears streaming down your face. "Y/N!" Heeseung shouted, attempting to chase after you. The rush of adrenaline urged you forward as you sprinted towards the more populated downtown, seeking solace in the anonymity of the bustling streets.

The relentless torrent of tears blurred your vision as you ran, the world a distorted mosaic of shadows and hazy streetlights. The weight on your chest felt unbearable, forcing you to gasp for breath as you sought refuge. The grocery store loomed ahead, a dimly lit sanctuary promising a momentary escape from the turmoil.

Leaning against the cool exterior wall of the store, you heaved deep breaths, each inhalation a struggle against the emotional storm that raged within. You swiped away your tears before you walked into the store. The door swung open with a hushed chime as you entered

The interior of the store appeared almost deserted, bathed in the artificial glow of overhead lights. A half-sleeping cashier lethargically manned the register, and an employee, lost in their cleaning duties, contributed to the quiet. Only two other customers wandered the aisles, their presence barely registering in the dim atmosphere.

With the basket in hand, you moved with a mechanical precision, guided by the monotony of your music. The list from your mother directed your movements as you navigated the aisles, the rhythmic beat in your ears providing a temporary respite from the emotional whirlwind.

Little did you anticipate the impending descent into chaos. The automatic doors whispered open, and a tall figure draped in a cloak stepped inside, an aura of malevolence accompanying their entrance.

The scene unfolded with chilling swiftness. Ghostface, concealed in the ominous cloak, advanced towards the unsuspecting cashier. A gloved hand silenced desperate cries before a blade flashed, cutting through the silence and life alike. The shotgun followed suit, the explosive sound resonating through the hushed aisles as it claimed another victim.

The sudden violence ruptured the fragile tranquility, and you instinctively tore out your earbuds, alert to the nightmare unfolding around you. Panicking, you instinctively sought cover behind a freezer, heart pounding as the screams reverberated through the aisles.

Silence settled, broken only by the haunting voice that emerged. "I know you are here, Y/N. Why don't you come out and make this much easier for us both and give yourself up now?" it intoned, a cruel invitation to surrender. Determined, you pulled up your pant leg, revealing the butterfly knife Heeseung had insisted you learn to use. The blade swished open, and you crouched in the shadows.

Ghostface continued his monologue, preaching a distorted sense of purpose. You, however, were focused on survival. Moving stealthily between the aisles, you checked your phone's camera at every turn, ensuring your unseen adversary was still out of sight.

Crawling on the ground, disregarding its grime, you moved with a mix of fear and determination.

Ghostface's taunts echoed, filled with promises of a twisted sense of justice. Moving with a catlike grace, you listened intently for any sign of Ghostface. Their voice droned on, but you paid it little attention, your focus locked on survival.

The aisles of the grocery store bore witness to a gruesome scene of tragedy as you stumbled upon the lifeless bodies of the employee and another customer. Their corpses layed, eyes frozen wide in terror, faces eternally contorted in the agony of their final moments. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't help but draw a shaky breath as you crawled towards the fallen employee.

Carefully, you approached the employee's still form, with a delicate touch, you reached for the keys hanging from their belt. The metallic jingle seemed deafening in the heavy silence that enveloped the gruesome scene.

As you retreated to a safer spot and peered around the corner, your eyes widened. Ghostface, stood amidst the aisles, holding the shotgun with an unsettling ease. His dark cloak billowed as he surveyed the surroundings, the mask betraying no emotions.

"Y/n!" he bellowed, the deep voice echoing through the desolate store. You remained still, concealed in the shadows, refusing to yield to his demands. "This isn't funny anymore. Come out... face me, you-you bitch!" he shouted, his frustration palpable.

His tone softened suddenly, an unexpected vulnerability seeping into his words. "I need you, Y/n. I need you here," he mumbled to himself, pacing away. A perplexed expression crossed your face as you watched him retreat, his erratic behavior leaving you both bewildered and cautious.

Seizing the opportune moment, you silently made your move. Crawling towards the backdoor, you clutched the stolen keys tightly, ensuring they made no sound. Ghostface's sporadic mutterings echoed through the store as he grew more agitated.

Reaching the backdoor, you fumbled through the keys, testing each one until the lock clicked open. The metallic sound felt deafening in the oppressive quiet. As the door unlocked, you grabbed the handle, ready to make a swift exit.

"There you are!"

Your heart pounded as you turned, eyes meeting the menacing figure standing just beyond the threshold. His shotgun aimed at you, you scrambled inside, slamming the door shut. The resounding gunshot echoed in your ears, a chilling reminder of how narrowly you had evaded death.

You wasted no time locking the door, the thump on the other side signaling Ghostface's frustration. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you retreated, navigating the labyrinthine storage room with urgency. The persistent echo of Ghostface's threats spurred you forward, each step a calculated move toward survival in this ghastly game of cat and mouse.

As you sprinted through the labyrinthine storage room of the store, the dim emergency exit sign beckoned you towards safety. Fingers trembling, you pushed the door open and burst into the cool night air. Panic set in as you dialed the police, the desperate plea in your voice cutting through the darkness.

"Miss, what can i help you with," the calm voice on the other end asked. " He's chasing after me! Ghostface is here! " you retorted, the terror resonating in your words. "All units are tracking your positions!" the voice replied.

A gunshot cracked through the air, and you glanced back to witness Ghostface, relentless and determined, hot on your heels. His ominous presence fueled your fear, propelling you forward in a desperate bid for survival.

In a moment of terror, Ghostface lunged at you, the force of his leap toppling you to the unforgiving ground. Your phone and knife clattered away, but with a surge of adrenaline, you rolled out of his grasp, swift and agile. Retrieving your knife, you abandoned your phone, the urgency of escape outweighing the need for communication.

The pursuit continued through the dimly lit streets, your breaths ragged and the cityscape blurring as you pushed your body to its limits. I will get you! You little bitch! You can't run from me, Y/n!"

The burn in your lungs and the relentless pounding of your heart fueled your determination to get away from the masked killer.

Vaulting over a fence, you cast a desperate glance over your shoulder. Ghostface closed in, his knife glinting ominously. With a swift maneuver, you veered to the left, finding refuge behind a hedge. The element of surprise played in your favor as you lunged at Ghostface, the blade of your knife finding its mark.

He howled in pain, an unexpected turn of events that left him wounded and disoriented. However, before you could savor your fleeting victory, Ghostface retaliated. Gripping you around the waist, he flung you to the ground, the impact stealing the air from your lungs.

Yet, salvation was imminent. By now, the lights in the surrounding houses flickered to life, and the distant wail of police sirens grew louder. Ghostface, now wounded and vulnerable, weighed his options. "Shit!" he exclaimed, his gaze darting between you and the encroaching law enforcement.

In a desperate bid to escape the imminent capture, Ghostface vanished into the shadows, leaving behind a wake of horrified onlookers. The chilling cries of "It's Ghostface!" and "It's the killer!" echoed through the neighborhood as the police closed in.

As you stood amidst the chaos, gasping for breath, it was in this disoriented state that you realized your knife, the very tool Heeseung had gifted you, was nowhere to be found. Panic and frustration intertwined as your eyes darted around the vicinity, searching for the glint of metal against the darkened pavement. But it was futile – the blade had vanished.

Then, the revelation hit you like a sudden gust of cold wind. A twisted sense of irony settled in as you connected the dots. Your knife, now lay embedded in the very source of the terror that had haunted your dreams.

A wry, bitter chuckle escaped your lips as you contemplated the absurdity of the situation. There goes Heeseung's gift, now an unwitting participant in the dark legacy of Ghostface that he had created. How ironic, you thought.

As the police surrounded you, you could only ponder the inexplicable twists of fate that had led you to this moment. "Why is it always me?" echoed in your thoughts. You were then ushered home, where your disheveled mother and worried brother awaited.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

After a week's absence, you returned to school, hoping for a semblance of normalcy. However, the moment you stepped onto the crowded campus, it felt like a tidal wave of students engulfed you. The sea of faces, voices clamoring over one another, and the proximity of people made panic grip your heart. The air felt thick, and you struggled to breathe as your vision blurred, overwhelmed by the chaotic environment.

With each step, the suffocating feeling intensified. It seemed like there was no escape, and you closed your eyes, attempting to shut out the sensory overload. The world was too loud, too close, and you pressed your hands to your ears in a desperate attempt to block it all out.

And then, a sudden quiet descended.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself facing someone's back. A familiar voice cut through the silence, "Back it up! Back it up! Give her some space! Ever heard of personal space?" It was Jungwon and Ni-ki, chasing away the dispersing crowd. Sunghoon stood by your side, his concern evident. The other boys formed a protective shield around you, except for Heeseung.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Sunghoon asked, worry etched on his face. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay," you replied, glancing at the boys with gratitude.

"Thank you, guys," you whispered.

"You're welcome, Y/N. People really have no respect," Jay remarked.

"Come on," Jake suggested, extending his hand toward you. You took it, feeling a sense of security as they flanked you, walking together towards your class. You noticed how others instinctively kept their distance.

Curiosity crept in, and you couldn't help but ask, "Why is everyone like this?" Their hesitation was palpable.

"What?" you pressed. "Well… how do I say this, Y/N... The video footage of the store was kinda leaked, so everyone saw how you survived," Sunoo explained reluctantly.

Shocked, you hadn't been on social media during your absence. Your mother had been vigilant, keeping you and your brother under close watch, and your lost phone remained unretrieved from the chaotic events. "Can I see?" you inquired.

They exchanged glances before Ni-ki stepped forward, tapping on his phone and showing you the video. Watching the footage from entering the store to seeking refuge in the storage room, you handed Ni-ki his phone back, muttering a soft "Wow."

As they asked about your well-being, you couldn't muster a definitive answer. "I don't know… I think I want to be alone now," you admitted, walking the rest of the way to class in solitude, grappling with the sudden spotlight on your survival.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The school day unfolded as a mix of emotions and overwhelming attention. Everywhere you went, students sought your company, asking questions, expressing concern, or simply wanting to be associated with the survivor of the store incident. While the incessant attention was draining, you couldn't deny the relief of not constantly glancing over your shoulder, anticipating Yeowang's presence or the sting of hurtful comments from her followers. Heeseung's drastic actions had severed those ties, but the weight of the consequences lingered in the air.

Lunchtime offered a temporary escape, and amid the bustling cafeteria, you found a moment to inquire about Heeseung's absence. Turning to Jay, who was seated beside you, you popped the question that had been lingering in your mind. "Where's Heeseung?" you asked, genuinely curious. Jay, pausing from his meal, looked at you with a quizzical expression. "Heeseung? He's sick," he answered matter-of-factly. Your eyes widened in surprise. "You didn't know?" Jay questioned again. "Oh, no, I didn't," you replied, processing the unexpected information. "Well, maybe he forgot to tell you. He asked us to watch over you when you returned," Jay added before returning his attention to his food.

The revelation about Heeseung's sickness left you with a mix of emotions. You hadn't anticipated this news, and a sense of unease settled over you. The boys, it seemed, were keeping a close eye on you at Heeseung's behest.

Upon arriving home, your mother greeted you, "There you are! Here, honey," she exclaimed, holding out a familiar object in her hands. Your eyes widened with delight as she handed you your long-lost phone. "You found it!" you exclaimed, the joy evident in your voice as you accepted the device.

"Yes, I did. Sorry, it took so long," your mom apologized, her tone tinged with relief. "It's okay, Mom," you reassured her, appreciating her effort to recover your belongings. With a grateful smile, you declared your intention to retreat to your room. "I'm going to my room," you announced, "Okay, honey," your mom responded, her attention already shifting to the kitchen.

Retreating to your room, you plugged the phone into the charger, watching as the screen came to life. The device was flooded with notifications, but among them, Heeseung's attempts to reach you stood out. Eighty-eight missed calls and 113 unread messages painted a vivid picture of his persistence. However, you decided against delving into the messages. The idea of conversing with him felt overwhelming, and you needed time to process everything.

The remainder of the day became a sanctuary of solitude, spent either in your room or with your brother. As night fell, you found yourself alone in your bed, the familiar struggle to sleep resurfaced. Glancing at the watch, the harsh glow of the screen revealed the lateness of the hour — nearing 2:30 AM. With a heavy sigh, you turned your gaze back to the ceiling, the weight of memories threatened to pull you into a realm you desperately wished to forget. The scene replayed in your mind, a vivid flashback to a moment etched in pain and humiliation.

Flashback:

The air was thick with tension as you found yourself behind the school, isolated and vulnerable, devoid of Heeseung's protective presence. The silence that enveloped the secluded spot was soon shattered by the cruel laughter of those who reveled in your vulnerability.

In the grim backstage of the school building, Yeowang and her lackeys emerged like shadows, their intentions clear. The boyfriend of one of the girls seized you, his grip unyielding, rendering any attempts at escape futile.

One of the girls held your bag hostage, a sinister grin etched on her face as she poured a smoothie into its depths, saturating your belongings. The cold liquid seeped through your bag, a metaphor for the cold disdain they harbored.

Yeowang, the puppeteer orchestrating the torment, reveled in her power, her words laced with venom. "You really are a pathetic bitch, you know that?" Yeowang's voice dripped with disdain, a venomous taunt that sought to corrode your spirit. "Can't even go a day without your bodyguards.

Silence was your armor, a refusal to grant them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. "I run this school! You hear me? Everyone wants me! Everyone answers to me!" Yeowang declared, her voice rising to a crescendo of arrogance.

Hateful glares were exchanged, and then, the resounding slap — a manifestation of her simmering rage.

A bitter glare was your only retort. "Well, you're doing a shit job at having everyone wanting you," you shot back, the words slicing through the tension like a knife. The impending storm erupted as Yeowang, seething with rage, prepared for another strike.

Refusing to succumb, you summoned strength from a reservoir of resilience. A swift punch to the guy's shin, a headbutt to his nose, and you were free. "Fuck! The bitch hit me in the motherfucking nose!" the boyfriend cried out, releasing his grip in pain. Seizing the opportunity, you launched yourself at Yeowang, a tempest of fists raining down on her.

The tables turned as you unleashed a torrent of punches on Yeowang, the once-confident bully now a target of your retribution.

Blood painted the scene as your fists found their mark, the visceral satisfaction of justice propelling each blow. The other girls, attempting to intervene, were met with your unrelenting force. Yeowang's hair became a makeshift handle as you screamed into her face, asserting your defiance. "Who`s the pathethic fucking bitch now?!" you declared, punctuating the statement with a final blow. As she staggered to her feet, blood-stained and defeated, her parting words echoed in the night air — "This isn't over!"

Breathing heavily, you watched them retreat into the darkness, a sense of triumph lingering in the air. With deep breaths, you salvaged what remained of your belongings.

A whimper from the fallen boy drew your attention. Standing over him, you asserted your demand for restitution. "Ey, asshole. You owe me a new bag and supplies," you declared, unyielding in the face of his feeble protests.

End of Flashback.

As the memory faded, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling, the weight of the past pressing against your chest, as another memory resurfaced

2nd Flashback:

The bathroom, a sanctuary of sorts, offered a brief respite from the chaos that often trailed in your wake. Alone, you stood by the sink, the cool water flowing over your hands. The door creaked open, revealing the unwelcome entrance of Yeowang.

"What now," you muttered, a weariness etched in your voice.

"You're dead," Yeowang declared, her words a venomous promise as she advanced with an air of calculated malice. Resigned, you met her gaze, your eyes betraying neither fear nor defiance. "Well, too bad I'm still alive," you retorted, the fatigue in your voice veiled behind a thin layer of indifference.

Yeowang, infuriated by your lack of submission, launched an attack. Her attempt at physical intimidation manifested in a swing of her hand, aimed at striking you into submission. Yet, in that moment, the reflexes of a survivor kicked in. You caught her wrist with a practiced ease, the strength beneath your seemingly fragile exterior taking her by surprise.

"Is that all you have?" you questioned, your voice laced with an exhaustion that transcended the physical. A gentle push sent her stumbling backward, her gasp of shock echoing in the tiled confines of the restroom.

"You worthless bitch! What does Heeseung even see in you?" Yeowang spat. Unmoved, you stood your ground, the echo of her insults bouncing off the bathroom walls. "I'm much better than you," she added, a final attempt to wound before she turned and left, the door closing with a hollow thud.

End of flashback.

As the memory dissipated, you sighed, the weight of Yeowang's animosity slowly lifting. Closing your eyes, you sought solace in the darkness, finally ridding yourself of the specter that haunted your past. Yet, amid the tranquility, Yeowang's last words lingered in the recesses of your mind — "What does Heeseung even see in you?"

The question, a lingering doubt, seized your thoughts, an elusive enigma that would accompany you into the realm of dreams. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, finally claimed you, pulling you into a restless slumber, where the shadows of the past continued to dance at the periphery of your subconscious.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The soothing hum of the library enveloped you as you sat with the boys, engrossed in your study materials. Ni-ki, positioned beside you, couldn't resist stealing glances at your work. Aware of his glances, you decided to address the matter. "Ni-ki, I can see you looking. I can just help you," you offered, your voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"No, no, I'm fine, really!" Ni-ki hastily responded, attempting to assure you. Your eyes rolled in response, a subtle expression of your disbelief. Despite his protests, you returned your attention to your work, a faint smile lingering on your lips.

The rhythmic quietude was disrupted by the sudden entrance of Jake, his figure a whirlwind of excitement as he sprinted towards your table, arms waving emphatically. Jungwon voiced the collective curiosity, asking, "What's up with him?" Jake, breathless, stopped by the occupied table, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

"Guys!" he exclaimed, momentarily drowned out by a nearby shush from an irritated student. Apologetically, Jake mumbled an apology to the disgruntled individual before focusing on the group again. His announcement resonated with enthusiasm, "Guys, there's a Halloween party coming up this Friday at Hyunjin's house!"

Intrigued by the unexpected announcement, Sunoo, voiced the question on everyone's minds. "Halloween party?" he inquired. Jake's affirmative nod unleashed a ripple of reactions, from raised eyebrows to exchanged glances.

However, Jay, interjected with a touch of seriousness. "So let me see if I understood this... there's a party this Halloween, despite the fact that we live in an unsafe town?" His inquiry injected a note of caution, prompting a brief pause in the group's excitement as they considered the potential risks associated with attending a festive gathering in the current environment.

Just as uncertainty lingered, a new voice chimed in, and all heads turned to see Hyunjin, who sauntered up and casually slung an arm around Jake's neck. "It`ll be fun guys!" Hyunjin pointed out, "Besides! I hired security to stand guard! And the place will be packed. Only those with private invitations get in! So everyone will be held accountable!"

Hyunjin's explanation seemed to alleviate some concerns. As a gesture of encouragement, he set down five private invitations. Jake, already holding one, received an extra burst of excitement. "See you all this Friday!" Hyunjin declared, leaving the library with an air of confidence.

The group momentarily sobered, caught between the allure of a party and the reality of their surroundings.

However, Jake's plea for company quickly shifted the focus. "Come on, guys, pleaseee! I don't wanna go alone," he implored, pulling an empty chair to the table and joining Ni-ki, and you couldn't help but notice Jake's puppy-dog eyes fixed on you. Eyes turned towards you, the only girl in the group, as you reached for one of the invitations. The golden letters on the Halloween-themed background spoke of festivities and fun, inviting participants to wear costumes, with additional details about security and the address.

Despite knowing your mother might not permit you to attend, the earnestness in Jake's eyes prompted a smile and a nod from you. The boys, each securing an invitation, burst into lively discussion about the upcoming event. Sunoo's excitement over costumes and Sunghoon's reminiscence of past parties echoed through the library, and you found solace in the distraction from your own thoughts.

Amidst the lively chatter, your attention briefly strayed to your phone, thoughts of Heeseung, absent for days due to sickness, tugged at your heart. Days had passed since you last saw or heard from him, as he had been notably absent from the recent killing spree.

You did feel a mix of pride for his restraint and worry for his sudden disappearance.

While the boys immersed themselves in costume ideas displayed on Jake's computer screen, the realization struck— you missed Heeseung. The void left by his absence flooded your mind. The real smiles, the scent of his cologne, the sound of his voice, his tender kisses, and the protective embrace that made you feel cherished—all of it tugged at your heart.

Despite your attempt to ignore the emotions welling up inside you, you remained oblivious to the devious plans the boys were quietly hatching, a surprise destined to unfold on the night of the Halloween party.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The soft glow of fairy lights adorned Sunoo's bedroom, casting a warm and inviting ambiance. Yet, the atmosphere clashed with the rising tension within you. "Are you joking with me?" you asked, standing in the middle of the room, a sense of skepticism etched across your face. Sunoo, with an excited glint in his eyes, had taken it upon himself to select your Halloween costume. Trusting him with this responsibility now felt like a leap of faith you were questioning.

On Sunoo's bed lay the ensemble he had chosen for you – an angel costume. The short, ethereal white dress poofed out at the bottom, giving it an otherworldly charm. White gloves, elegantly reaching to your elbows, accompanied the outfit. A delicate headband connected to a halo rested on the bed, awaiting it`s place atop your head. White tights, adorned with diamonds intricately stitched into the fabric, a pair of pristine white heels and soft, pelt-like angel wings completed the ensemble.

You cautiously touched the wings, surprised by their softness, "It's a pretty costume, Y/n! Come on, give it a try!" Sunoo pleaded with an infectious enthusiasm. "Fine…but only because I don't have anything else, and the party is in one hour."

As Sunoo gave you an encouraging thumbs up, he exited the room, leaving you to change. Closing the door behind him, you took a deep breath, eyeing the costume. The room echoed with your murmured mantra, "This is crazy, this is crazy," as you began the process of changing into the attire.

After finishing changing into the angel costume Sunoo had chosen for you, you stepped in front of the mirror to assess the result. As you looked at your reflection, a sense of relief washed over you—you looked okay. With a twirl, you tested the movement of the skirt, pleased to see it held its shape beautifully. Amidst the ensemble, a pearly waistbead adorned your waist, its lustrous pearls gleaming softly in the dim light. A black heart, connected the pearls, adding a subtle yet captivating contrast to the purity of your costume. Additionally, a layered pearly necklace graced your neck, at the center, a heart pendant adorned with intricate wings hung delicately, perfectly complementing the angelic theme of your attire.

"Y/n?" Sunoo's voice came from behind the door, accompanied by a light knock. "Are you finished?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm finished," you replied, confirming your readiness.

Sunoo eagerly opened the door and entered the room, his eyes lighting up as he caught sight of you. With an enthusiastic grin, he clapped his hands and bounced lightly on his feet. "You look so beautiful, Y/n!" he exclaimed, his genuine compliment warming your heart.

"Really?" you responded, still a bit uncertain.

"Of course! I would never lie to you!" Sunoo reassured you before grabbing his own costume—a simple pirate outfit—and preparing to get ready.

As you applied the finishing touches to your hair and makeup, you soon felt satisfied with your appearance. Descending the stairs in your costume, you found Sunoo already heading out the front door towards the car. And Jay, dressed as The Joker, was assisting Jungwon with his car racer costume.

"What are you supposed to be?" you asked Jungwon.

"I'm supposed to be a car racer who died in a car crash and—" Jungwon paused mid-sentence as he turned to face you, his expression mirroring Sunoo's excitement. "Wow, Y/n! You look amazing!" he exclaimed, rushing over to you and taking your hands in his.

"Thank you, Jungwon!" you replied, returning his smile.

Jay, who had also turned to see you, was momentarily speechless. "Wow…" he whispered, clearly impressed. "You will definitely win the prettiest costume," he declared.

"There are awards?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah! Hyunjin put it together last minute as a treat," Jungwon explained as he guided you out to the waiting car, with Jay following suit.

Taking your place in the passenger seat as Jay drove, you glanced out at the streets, observing the groups of trick-or-treaters and families celebrating Halloween together. "The others will meet us at the party," Jungwon informed, looking up from his phone.

"Oh, fun!" Sunoo exclaimed, anticipation evident in his voice.

As Jay parked the car a bit away from Hyunjin's house, you all stepped out into the night. The air was filled with the distant sound of music and laughter, and the glow of colorful lights illuminated the sky above Hyunjin's mansion. The driveway was packed with cars, and groups of people in various costumes were milling around, chatting and laughing.

Jungwon led the way, striding confidently towards the imposing front doors of the mansion. A security guard stood watch, checking invitations as guests arrived. You, Jay, and Sunoo followed closely behind Jungwon, anticipation building with every step.

"Invites?" the guard asked as you approached. You reached into your purse and retrieved the slip of paper, handing it to the guard. He glanced at it briefly before nodding and allowing you to pass.

Stepping inside, you were immediately struck by the grandeur of Hyunjin's family mansion. The interior was vast and dimly lit, with the only sources of light being the moonlight streaming through the windows and the pulsating lights from the dance floor.

A sweeping staircase led up to the second floor, where silhouettes of partygoers could be seen mingling and dancing. The sound of music filled the air, accompanied by the occasional cheer or burst of laughter.

You squinted against the flashing lights and spotted the DJ, Changbin, stationed at his booth, dressed as a zombie.

"Come on!" Sunoo's enthusiastic call broke through the noise. He eagerly pulled you and the rest of the group towards a living room area where some guests were taking a break on the couches. As you approached, you noticed Ni-ki sitting on one of the couches, dressed as Luigi, looking somewhat irritated as he sipped on a drink. Next to him sat Jake, dressed as Mario, laughing uproariously at something.

Ni-ki spotted you and waved, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Finally!" he exclaimed, quickly bouncing off the couch to greet you. "Wow, you guys look amazing!" he complimented, his annoyance momentarily forgotten. You and the rest of the group thanked him, exchanging smiles.

The conversation took an unexpected turn as Jake, clearly a bit tipsy, giggled and made a comment about Heeseung's hypothetical reaction to seeing you. Confusion flashed across your face as you turned to the others, noticing their guilty expressions. "Heeseung is here?" you inquired, surprised by the revelation.

Before anyone could respond, you heard your name being called from behind. You turned around, as you laid eyes on Sunghoon approaching you. Dressed as a vampire, he exuded an air of elegance, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked. "You look amazing!" Sunghoon complimented sincerely, his warm smile momentarily easing your discomfort. "Thank you, you too."

However, it was the figure standing awkwardly behind Sunghoon that made your stomach churn. Heeseung stood there, dressed as a demon, his appearance sending a wave of mixed emotions coursing through you. Simple yet undeniably captivating in his black attire, Heeseung's unbuttoned shirt revealed his collarbones, and a silver chain hung around his neck. Black horns protruded from his slicked-back hair, and a pair of black wings adorned his back, completing the demonic ensemble.

As you took in his appearance, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, confusion, and longing wash over you.

With a sharp glare, you directed your gaze towards the boys, who attempted to appear innocent under your scrutiny. However, their guilty expressions betrayed them, and they instinctively backed away from your piercing stare. Clearly, they were responsible for orchestrating this couple costume setup, and you vowed silently to exact revenge on them soon.

"You look good," Heeseung's voice interrupted your silent standoff, drawing your attention back to him. Studying him closely now, you noticed the recent events had taken a toll on him. His eyes were tired, rimmed with dark circles, and he seemed notably thinner. "Thanks... you too," you replied, masking your concern with a polite response. Heeseung shrugged. "Thanks but, it wasn't my idea, Jake got me the costume," he admitted, his gaze dropping to his attire.

Forcing a smile, you turned your attention back to the boys, who now seemed to be squirming under your murderous stare. They were the culprits behind this whole ordeal, and they knew it. You relaxed your expression slightly as you turned back to Heeseung. "It wasn't mine either, Sunoo got me this," you explained, playing with the hem of your dress nervously.

"Well, it's pretty," Heeseung admitted, his nervousness evident as he bit his bottom lip. Surprised by his sincerity, you simply nodded in acknowledgment. Jungwon intervened, suggesting a drink, and you allowed him to lead you away from Heeseung.

Navigating through the crowded party, you and Jungwon eventually reached the spacious kitchen. Bottles of alcohol and snacks lined the long island, and Jungwon wasted no time in fixing himself a drink. You grabbed a drink for yourself and downed it in one gulp before turning to Jungwon with a pointed question.

"Did you know about it?" you asked, your tone laced with accusation. Jungwon stiffened at your tone, attempting to defend himself. "I didn't want to actually participate—" he began, but you cut him off, unimpressed by his excuses. "But you did know about it, and you didn't tell me?" you interjected sharply.

Jungwon pleaded innocence, claiming it was all Jake's idea. Despite his apology, you grumbled in frustration, punching him lightly in the arm. "Ow!" Jungwon protested, rubbing the spot where you had hit him, but you merely shrugged, determined to exact revenge on the boys for their deception.

"Hey Y/n! you're here?" A cheerful voice called out, pulling your attention away from the crowd. It was Yuna, one of your classmates, dressed as Carrie from the horror novel. Beside her stood Giselle, adorned in a witch costume. "Hello," you greeted them warmly, a smile playing on your lips.

"I'm going out," Giselle announced, grabbing a bottle of soju from the fridge before making her exit. Yuna flashed you a friendly smile and poured herself a drink. "I like your costume!" she complimented you. "Thanks, I like yours too," you replied, returning the compliment.

"Hey, a few of us were going out, do you want to join?" she asked, her tone inviting, Yuna's invitation caught you off guard but piqued your interest. You had grown close with Yuna over class, and her offer seemed appealing. With a nod, you accepted, feeling comfortable in her presence. "Yeah, I'll be right there," you confirmed.

"Cool!" Yuna exclaimed, excitement evident in her voice, before heading off to join her friends. Turning to face Jungwon, who looked slightly puzzled, "you're going with her?" he inquired, his expression curious. "Yes, I can't stick with you guys the whole night," you explained. Jungwon nodded understandingly, a smile gracing his lips. "Have fun and be safe then. We'll be around here if you need us," he reassured you before taking his leave.

Taking another sip of your drink, you felt a surge of confidence coursing through you as you navigated your way through the pulsating dance floor. The crowd seemed to part effortlessly as you passed, their gazes drawn to your costume. Some offered compliments as you made your way through the throng, and you graciously thanked them, a smile playing on your lips.

As you reached the back of the house, you stepped outside into the cool night air, scanning the area for Yuna. Spotting her amidst a group of people, she waved enthusiastically, her excitement palpable. Making your way over, you were greeted by the welcoming smiles of Yuna's friends.

"You actually came!" Yuna exclaimed, her happiness evident in her tone. "Guys, you know Y/n," she introduced you to the group, who greeted you warmly in return. Though you recognized them, you hadn't interacted with them much before.

Giselle stood besides Yuna, accompanied by Yuqi, whose fairy costume added a whimsical touch to the gathering. Kazuha, dressed as the hauntingly beautiful Corpse Bride, stood beside them. Momo, adorned in mummy wrappings, mingled with the group. Felix, portraying the spirited Luffy from the anime, engaged in a conversation with Mingi, who was decked out as the iconic Michael Myers. Minghao, was dressed as the beloved superhero Spiderman, and Keeho stood tall, embodying the iconic Batman, while Taehyung, was dressed as the enigmatic Phantom of the Opera.

Meanwhile, as Jungwon joined the rest of the guys, they noticed your absence from their midst. "Where's Y/n?" Ni-ki asked, glancing around the room. "She's with some of her friends, I think," Jungwon replied, taking a seat beside Jay and Sunghoon. But then another realization struck Jungwon. "Where's Heeseung?" he asked, scanning the room. The boys looked around, but Heeseung was nowhere to be found. "Huh? He was just here!?" Ni-ki exclaimed in confusion. "He's probably around here," Sunghoon suggested.

"Was it wrong of us to drag them to this party?" Sunoo pondered aloud, expressing concern. "No, they need to realize that they love each other," Jake asserted confidently, his voice rising a bit too loudly and drawing unwanted attention from those nearby. "Shhh!" Jay quickly shushed him, casting a wary glance around the room. "We don't want everyone here to know!" he admonished Jake. "We can only hope they realize it," he added, the concern evident in his tone.

Meanwhile, you happily engaged in conversation with Yuna and her friends, though you kept your interactions with Taehyung to a minimum, he seemed content simply gazing at you, making you feel a tad uncomfortable, especially with the chill in the air. As Felix proposed hitting the dance floor, you glanced at your phone and saw a message from your brother indicating that he had successfully covered for you and your mother was asleep. Grateful for his assistance, you slipped your phone back into your purse as Yuna pulled you onto the dance floor with her friends.

Lost in the pulsating rhythm and laughter, you suddenly felt a burning stare and glanced around, eventually locking eyes with Heeseung, who stood a distance away, his gaze fixed solely on you. Feeling uneasy, you looked away, only to be swept into the dance by Kazuha and mingling with Mingi, who smiled down at you.

Amidst the joyous atmosphere, you eventually excused yourself to the kitchen for a drink. The quiet solitude enveloped you as you leaned against the counter, the faint scent of nicotine lingering in the air. Lost in thought, you retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and took a sip. Just then, Heeseung entered the room, breaking the silence. "Hi," you greeted softly, meeting his gaze. "Hello," he replied, his voice equally soft.

A moment of silence passed between you before Heeseung spoke again. "You looked like you had fun on the dance floor," he remarked, attempting to break the tension. "Yeah, I did," you replied, though the unease lingered in your voice. "How are you doing?" you asked, hoping for a glimpse into his state of mind. He seemed surprised by your question. "I'm good. How are you doing?" he asked in return. "Good," you answered, though the strength in your voice wavered.

As you and Heeseung stood there awkwardly in the kitchen, a group of drunk people stumbled in, breaking the tense silence. Quickly, you averted your gaze, feeling the need to escape. You attempted to slip out of the kitchen, but a glance behind you revealed that Heeseung was following closely behind, his expression determined as he prowled after you. Gasping, you navigated through the crowd, each time you turned, he was right on your trail, his presence looming closer.

What was he doing? You couldn't help but wonder as you climbed up to the second floor, weaving past people until you finally stopped and turned around. To your relief, you didn't see Heeseung, feeling victorious as you leaned over the balcony railing, observing the festivities below. A smile graced your lips as you spotted Jake, Jay, and Ni-ki on the dance floor, enjoying themselves.

However, your moment of triumph was short-lived as you sensed someone approaching from behind. Instinctively, you knew it was Heeseung, his cologne lingering in the air as his arms enveloped you against the railing. He had pulled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his toned and veiny arms as he gripped the railing, his head resting on your shoulder as he whispered in your ear, "You thought you could escape from me?" Feeling a surge of panic at his sudden presence, you attempted to pull away from his grip, but Heeseung's hold only tightened around you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, preventing your escape, as he effortlessly pulled you back into his chest. You could feel the warmth of his body pressing against your back, his arms enveloping you in a tight embrace, leaving you with no choice but to surrender to his hold.

Heeseung leaned over the railing, bringing you along with him. You had no choice but to lean over as well, your weight supported by the sturdy wooden barrier. From the corner of your eye, you could see him gazing at you, his intense gaze locking with yours as he whispered, his warm breath grazing your ear, "Running from me like that?" His voice was soft yet laced with a hint of accusation. Your mouth opened in response, but no words came out. You missed this intimacy, feeling safe and secure in his embrace, as if he could alleviate all your stress.

Eventually, you turned around to face him, meeting his gaze as he leaned in closer. Placing a hand on his chest, you tilted your head slightly, whispering, "I thought I could try." Neither of you spoke after that, simply gazing at each other, both feeling touch-starved after days apart.

"Please, angel," Heeseung whispered, his touch sending a warm sensation through your stomach. Before you could respond, however, you heard your name being called. Startled, both you and Heeseung pulled back to see Giselle standing there. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?" she asked innocently. "No, no," you quickly assured her. "Um, what is it?" you asked.

"Mingi is looking for you," Giselle informed you, oblivious to the tension between you and Heeseung. You noticed the subtle clenching of Heeseung's jaw at the news. "Oh, thank you for telling me," you said to Giselle, offering a polite smile as she walked away, leaving you and Heeseung.

Clearing your throat to catch Heeseung's attention, you saw his gaze instantly snap to you. "I'm gonna..." you started talking as you began to walk back down, but with a glance behind you, you noticed Heeseung was still following after you. Shaking your head, you navigated around the thick crowd until you made it to the dance floor. You spotted Yuna and her friends still dancing, but no sign of Mingi. Scanning the area, you tried to find him, but it seemed like he found you first. "There you are!" Mingi said happily, and you turned, smiling at him as he led you to the outskirts of the ground floor where a bar stood. "There's a bar?" you asked, surprised by its presence. "Yes!" Mingi exclaimed. You both settled on the barstools as you ordered a strong drink, feeling like you needed it.

As you and Mingi began chatting like old friends, the bartender prepared your drinks. You both cheered your shots, downing them quickly. Mingi ordered another round of drinks as you looked out at the dance floor, feeling a sense of something pulling you. You made eye contact with Heeseung, who stood by the door, surrounded by other people but with his full attention fixed on you. You quickly turned back to Mingi, who was rambling on about something, and you listened attentively.

As time passed and the shots flowed, you began to feel the buzz of alcohol. Giggling with Mingi, who was clearly drunk as he clung to you, he slurred, "Hey Y/n! You are very beautiful!" "Thank you, Mingi," you giggled in response. "Hey, hey! Are you single?" he slurred further. "Well..." you started to reply, but before you could finish, a scream interrupted. You looked and saw Yuna running towards you. "Y/n! Come on! Come on!" she screamed, grabbing you and Mingi. "This is my song!" she declared as a Rihanna song blared through the speakers.

Wide-eyed, you recognized the song as "Only Girl (In the World)" and Yuna pulled you and Mingi into the middle of the dance floor. Without hesitation, you smiled and danced and sang along with Yuna, Giselle, Yuqi, Momo, and Kazuha. Together, you all screamed the lyrics without a care in the world.

Spinning around, you saw Jake and Ni-ki dancing nearby. When they noticed you, they jumped closer, joining in the fun. Lost in the music and the energy of the moment, you danced with abandon.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As the night progressed, you found yourself fully immersed in the energy of the party. The music throbbed in your ears, the flashing lights painted the room in vibrant hues, and the laughter of your friends echoed in the air. Amidst the chaos of the dance floor, you let yourself go, moving to the rhythm with abandon, your worries melting away with every beat.

But amidst the crowd, amidst the laughter and the music, your attention kept being drawn to him. Heeseung, his presence a constant, his gaze an ever-present force that seemed to follow you wherever you went. You felt his eyes on you, hungry, intense, and filled with longing. Every time you glanced in his direction, you found him there, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that his attention brought. It felt good to be wanted, to be pursued with such fervor. Despite the chaos of the party, despite the throng of people surrounding you, it was his gaze that you found yourself drawn to, his presence that you couldn't shake.

Outside by the grand pool, you found a moment's respite from the pulsating energy of the party. Nestled on a plush couch with friends on either side, the night air carried the distant echoes of laughter and music, a backdrop to the tranquil scene. Yuna occupied the space to your left, a comforting presence amidst the lively ambiance, while Mingi sat on your right, his flushed cheeks betraying the effects of the festivities.

As you sat there, the weariness of the night settling upon you, you nursed a drink that had long lost its chill. Setting it down on a nearby table, your gaze wandered to the pool, its iridescent waters shimmering under the moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow.

Mingi's arm draped around you, pulling you closer, you chuckled softly at his playful demeanor, but as his gaze met yours, a sense of disquiet washed over you. Something felt off, a nagging feeling that this wasn't where you belonged. It wasn't Mingi's touch that you craved, but another's, someone whose absence had left a void within you.

Before you could dwell further on your thoughts, a sudden presence loomed behind you. Turning around, you found Heeseung standing there, his demeanor intense and unwavering. His piercing gaze bore into Mingi, a silent warning that didn't escape your notice.

"Y/n, may I have a word?" Heeseung's voice cut through the air, his tone clipped and authoritative. "Hey, we're kinda busy here," Mingi's voice carried a hint of protest, but Heeseung's response was swift. "Not anymore you are," he snapped back, his tone laced with an edge that brooked no argument. The intensity of his gaze bore down on Mingi, leaving him no choice but to relent. "Okay, okay. Fine, take her," Mingi's words held a tinge of resignation.

With an apologetic smile aimed at Mingi, you rose from the couch, the weight of Heeseung's stare compelling you to follow him.

As you came to him, he wordlessly pulled you along to a vacant room, his grip firm around your waist. The silence between you was heavy with unspoken tension as you searched his eyes for answers, but he remained resolute, his gaze unwavering.

"What did you want to talk about?" you ventured, but Heeseung's response was swift and startling. With a sudden movement, he slammed his hand against the wall beside your head, causing you to emit a small noise of surprise. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of anger and despair as he unleashed a torrent of emotion.

"Does it humor you?" His voice trembled with pent-up frustration, each word dripping with the bitter taste of betrayal.

"What?" The single word escaped your lips, echoing in the tense silence that enveloped you both. Heeseung's frustration boiled over, his words pouring forth like a rainstorm.

"Does it humor you to break up, leave me to rot, knowing that bastard went after you and not send me a message that you were okay?" His voice cracked with raw emotion, his despair pouring out in waves.

You stood there, paralyzed by the weight of his words, unable to offer any solace or explanation. He continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and despair, each syllable a dagger to your heart.

"…and then show up looking so beautiful?" His voice wavered. The realization of your absence, of the void left in his life, weighed heavily on his shoulders, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable weight. "And then see other guys look at you? Knowing I can't do anything because you aren't mine anymore?" His words tumbled out in a torrent of despair.

His hand rose to your cheek, a silent plea for understanding, for forgiveness. You felt the warmth of his touch against your skin, a bittersweet reminder of the love that still lingered between you, despite the pain that had torn you apart.

"They don't deserve to look at you." The words slipped from his lips like a whispered prayer, a plea for redemption amidst the chaos of his shattered heart.

As the weight of his words settled upon you, you found yourself speechless.

"Heeseung… I'm… so sorry, but I didn't…" You struggled to articulate your thoughts, but they remained elusive, lost amidst the maelstrom of emotions swirling within you. "I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Then don't say anything," Heeseung's words were a command, a plea wrapped in desperation. Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours. A gasp escaped your lips as he drew you closer, his hand instinctively finding its place around your neck. The world around you faded as you went slack in his hold.

You basked in the intensity of the moment, feeling the undeniable rightness of being in Heeseung's arms after days of longing. His touch, his kiss, it all felt like a familiar embrace, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of your emotions. As his hand trailed down to your thigh, hitching it up, you felt a surge of desire coursing through you, igniting every nerve ending in your body.

Heeseung's touch became more fervent, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs through the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. With a sense of urgency, his hand slipped upward, tracing the curve of your thigh, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. In a bold move, you wrapped your leg around his hip, drawing him closer.

He pulled back from the kiss, his lips leaving a trail of fiery kisses along your neck, marking you as his own with each fervent touch. "Heeseung—" You attempted to speak, to voice the thoughts swirling within your mind, but his lips silenced you once more, his desperation evident in the small, desperate sounds escaping his lips. You felt his hands slide to your hips, pulling you close, while your hands instinctively found their place on his chest.

But before you could surrender completely to the moment, the door burst open, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy between you and Heeseung. With a start, you pushed him away, both of you turning to see a couple of drunken partygoers stumbling into the room. Heeseung's expression turned murderous, his gaze fixed on the intruders with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment of chaos and intrusion, you made a split-second decision, pulling away from Heeseung and running out of the room, ignoring his shouts behind you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fled, overwhelmed by the realization that once again, you had fallen back into the tangled web of emotions surrounding Heeseung.

You felt trapped, ensnared by a love that seemed to have a grip on your very soul, leaving you with no clear path forward. Despite your efforts to break free, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were destined to be entangled with Heeseung, no matter how hard you tried to resist.

The cacophony of the party faded into the background as you burst out of the door, onto the deserted streets, the sound of your heels resonating with each hurried step. It was late, the moon casting an eerie glow on the silent pavement, devoid of any signs of life. Houses stood like looming shadows, their windows darkened, their inhabitants lost in the embrace of sleep. All you could focus on was the desperate need to escape, to find solace in the familiarity of home.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the ominous presence trailing behind you, the faint hum of an engine echoing in the empty street. The realization struck too late, a sharp pang of pain reverberating through your body as something solid collided with you. The world seemed to spin, your senses overwhelmed by a wave of agony as you crumpled to the cold asphalt, the harsh impact stealing the air from your lungs.

Through tear-blurred vision, you glimpsed a shadowy figure approaching through the haze, a menacing silhouette against the dimly lit backdrop of the night. Your consciousness wavered, as you surrendered to the engulfing void, your body succumbing to the numbing embrace of unconsciousness.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As consciousness slowly seeped back into your awareness, you were immediately engulfed in a whirlwind of agony. Pain coursed through every fiber of your being, a relentless torment that threatened to consume you whole. With a cry of anguish, you attempted to move, only to find your limbs unresponsive, bound by unseen restraints.

Opening your eyes proved to be a daunting task, the world swimming in a haze of disorientation. Through bleary vision, you were greeted by the sight of a gray cement wall. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you attempted to turn your head, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that left you reeling.

As you struggled to make sense of your surroundings, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. With a growing sense of dread, you cast your gaze downward, your heart sinking as you beheld the sight before you. You were bound to a chair, your arms and legs immobilized by tight restraints. Panic clawed at the edges of your mind as you writhed against the bindings, each movement met with searing pain.

Your eyes fell upon your left arm, where an IV drip stood, pushing an unknown substance through your veins, dulling your senses and leaving you feeling lethargic and heavy-limbed. Panic surged within you as you realized the extent of your predicament.

Still clad in your Halloween costume, the remnants of the festivities felt like a cruel mockery in the face of your current ordeal. Bruised and bloodied, you were a stark contrast to the playful facade you had worn just hours earlier. Your heels lay discarded nearby, a reminder of the freedom that had been cruelly stripped away from you.

A cloth gag silenced any attempts at outcry, muffling your cries of desperation as you surveyed your surroundings. The room resembled a dark, foreboding cellar, devoid of windows. A single reinforced steel door loomed ominously before you, another chair, positioned a short distance away, served as the only other furniture in the chamber.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took in the bleak reality of your situation. Bound and helpless, trapped in a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to the chilling silence, the echoes of your thoughts the only company in the darkness.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The news of your disappearance spread like wildfire, igniting a frenzy of panic and despair among those who know and love you. On television screens and newspaper headlines, your face was plastered alongside the words "MISSING."

In the midst of the chaos, your mother's anguished cries pierced the air, echoing through the once-familiar confines of your home. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs a testament to the depths of her despair.

Your brother, haunted by guilt, paced the floorboards with a heavy heart, knowing that his actions had contributed to your disappearance.

Outside, the authorities scrambled to gather information, their efforts focused on piecing together the fragments of your last known movements. Police officers canvassed the streets, questioning witnesses and appealing to the public for any shred of information that might lead to your whereabouts.

Meanwhile, your friends, consumed by worry and fear, clung to each other for support. They replayed the events of the night over and over in their minds, grappling with feelings of guilt and helplessness.

But perhaps none felt the weight of your absence more than Heeseung. As he awoke to the news of your disappearance, his world shattered into a million pieces. With trembling hands, he reached for his phone, desperate to hear the sound of your voice, only to be met with the cold, indifferent voice of an automated message. In a fit of anguish, he hurled his phone across the room.

Dongsik, sensing his owner's distress, approached tentatively. But Heeseung was beyond comfort, his fears consuming him whole as he crumbled beneath the weight of his despair.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As time dragged on in the dim confines of the basement, you felt the oppressive weight of darkness pressing down on you, enveloping you in a suffocating shroud of uncertainty. With no sunlight to gauge the passage of time and no watch to mark the hours, you were left to languish in the void, trapped in a timeless limbo of despair.

Suddenly, the heavy silence was shattered by the creak of the door swinging open, and you blinked against the sudden intrusion of light, your vision swimming in disorientation. As your eyes adjusted, you were met with the chilling sight of Ghostface, your captor, looming ominously in the doorway. A surge of fear shot through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for whatever horror he had in store.

"Mhmh," you attempted to speak, but your words were stifled by the gag, leaving only muffled sounds to escape your lips. Ghostface's voice echoed in the darkness, his tone dripping with sinister amusement as he addressed you.

"Ah, you are awake! Wonderful," he intoned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. The chair creaked ominously beneath you as you struggled against your restraints, the ropes digging into your skin as you rocked back and forth in a desperate attempt to free yourself.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Don't do that, my dear. I don't want you bleeding out and dying so early! That would just ruin the fun," he remarked, his words laced with a sickening sense of amusement.

With a grimace of pain, you stilled your movements, the throbbing ache in your body a relentless reminder of your vulnerability. Ghostface's presence loomed over you, his masked visage shrouded in shadows as he studied you with a predatory curiosity. You met his gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to cower before his intimidation tactics, causing his patience to wear thin as he tore the gag from your mouth.

"Now, I finally have you right where I want you," he declared, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "What is so special about you, hmm?" he inquired, his tone dripping with disdain as he awaited your response.

Your defiance burned brightly in your eyes as you locked gazes with Ghostface, refusing to yield. "Oh, don't give me that look!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with exasperation. "You broke his reigning killing streak, and for what?" he demanded, but still, you refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, your lips pressed together in a line.

"Ah, the silent treatment, hm?" Ghostface chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "But your silence won't save you now, my dear." Yet you offered no response.

"Oh, how you infuriate me," Ghostface sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "But mark my words, my dear, I will uncover the truth, one way or another."

"Fuck you, you bastard," you spat defiantly, which was met with a growl of frustration from your captor. "Why do you have to make this so difficult, sweetheart?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he bathed the basement in harsh light before retreating. You winced at the sudden assault on your senses, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes.

Alone in the oppressive silence, you screamed until your voice grew hoarse, your cries echoing fruitlessly against the unforgiving walls. With each passing moment, the weight of your captivity bore down on you with crushing force, leaving you battered and broken, your thoughts consumed by the memory of Heeseung and the cruel twists of fate that had led you to this nightmarish ordeal.

"Heeseung," you whispered, the name a desperate plea for solace in the darkness as tears streamed silently down your cheeks, your heart aching with longing for the one person who might offer you a glimmer of hope in the abyss of your despair.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The sound of the door creaking open echoed through the dimly lit basement, but you didn't lift your head or open your eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, your body drained of strength and your spirit battered by the relentless torment you endured.

"I know you are awake, Y/n," Ghostface's voice cut through the silence as he moved about the room. You grumbled out a response, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your throat felt raw from screaming, your stomach gnawing with hunger, and your mind clouded with fatigue.

"Don't worry, it will all be over soon," Ghostface's words offered little comfort as you finally raised your head to observe his movements. He had set up a phone to record you, his actions sending a chill down your spine as you realized the gravity of the situation. "How long have I been here?" you managed to croak out, wincing at the harshness of your own tone.

"You've only been here for two days, Y/n," Ghostface replied, his tone laced with mockery. "Don't tell me you're already breaking?" he taunted, his laughter echoing in the confined space. You remained silent, unable to summon the strength to respond as he continued his preparations.

"It won't matter, if this works you won't stay here for long!" Ghostface's words washed over you, your mind numb to the significance of his threats. His voice droned on, the ringing in your ears grew louder, drowning out his voice as you weakly blinked at the camera, your gaze unfocused.

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your scalp as Ghostface seized your hair in a vice-like grip, yanking your head back forcefully. Your eyes snapped open in response to the agony, your gaze meeting his behind the chilling facade of his mask. He wielded a knife, its glinting blade poised menacingly against your throat, applying just enough pressure to draw blood.

You grimaced, the metallic tang of blood filling your senses as a single drop trickled down from where the knife bit into your skin.

"Come to the beginning and you'll find your precious little thing," Ghostface's words cut through, his grip relenting as he released you and turned to the phone, ending the recording.

"That's all I need from you. Now you stay here and don't move," Ghostface commanded, dismantling the setup with disregard. "Not like you can go anywhere with how you look!" he mocked, his laughter fading as he exited the room, leaving you alone in the frigid darkness once more.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body trembled with exhaustion and fear, you cried out, your voice lost in the void as despair threatened to consume you whole.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

Heeseung sat on the couch, his surroundings a chaotic reflection of his inner turmoil. The living room was in disarray, scattered with empty instant ramen containers and discarded pieces of paper strewn across the coffee table. His hair was disheveled, a wild mess mirroring the chaos of his mind, and dark circles underscored his eyes, evidence of his sleepless nights.

Just as he was consumed by his overwhelming sense of helplessness, his phone buzzed with a message notification. His heart leaped into his throat as he snatched up the device, his hands trembling. The screen was illuminated with message from Jay:

Turn on the news

The message read, short and to the point. Without a moment's hesitation, Heeseung leaped over the coffee table, his movements fueled by a surge of urgency. He reached for the remote control, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste, and aimed it at the television.

With a press of a button, the screen flickered to life, bathing the dimly lit room in the soft glow of the news broadcast. Heeseung's heart pounded in his chest as he awaited the unfolding of events, his eyes fixed on the screen.

The news anchor's somber expression mirrored Heeseung's growing dread as she began to speak about the recent disappearance of you, her voice weighted with sorrow.

"We have received a video from an anonymous sender regarding the recent disappearance of Y/N Y/L/N, which has been concluded as a kidnapping," the news anchor announced, her tone heavy with gravity. "What you are about to witness is nothing short of horror."

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat as the video feed started, revealing you, broken and hurt, your eyes vacant as they stared past the camera. His heart clenched at the sight of you, your appearance confirming his worst fears. Matted hair, dried blood staining your face, bruises marring your skin – it was a gut-wrenching sight that threatened to shatter him.

As the figure of Ghostface stepped into frame, clad in the familiar mask that once represented Heeseung`s persona, his rage boiled over. "You fucker!" he shouted, his voice laced with venomous fury. Though he listened to Ghostface's speech, his attention remained fixated on you, his heart aching with the desire to protect you from the horrors you were enduring.

You didn't deserve to suffer, locked away in a basement by a deranged psychopath. He was nothing compared to the true Ghostface, the persona that Heeseung had embodied with a sense of helplessness and thrill. And Heeseung vowed, with every fiber of his being, that he would find you and ensure your safety, no matter the cost.

As Ghostface's sinister actions unfolded on the screen, Heeseung felt a surge of rage course through him like a raging inferno. The sight of you, vulnerable and in pain, ignited a primal instinct within him, urging him to take action, to protect you at any cost. His grip on the TV tightened, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his emotions, as he fought to contain the tempest of fury that threatened to consume him.

When Ghostface, that despicable figure who dared to lay a hand on you, Heeseung's anger boiled over, reaching its breaking point. The knife pressed against your throat, the blood seeping from the wound, it was all too much for him to bear. With a guttural roar of fury, Heeseung nearly hurled the TV across the room, his muscles coiled like a tightly wound spring ready to unleash its pent-up fury.

"Come to the beginning and you'll find your precious little thing," Ghostface's words echoed in his mind, a cruel taunt that fueled Heeseung's determination to bring justice to those who dared to harm you. As the video abruptly cut off and the news anchor's voice filled the room, Heeseung's gaze hardened into icy determination.

"We can only pray for Y/n to return safely and hope that Ghostface will be taken care of," the news anchor's words were a mere backdrop to Heeseung's seething rage. With a menacing edge to his voice, Heeseung spoke, his tone laced with dark intent.

"Oh, I will make sure he will be taken care of," he muttered, his laughter carrying a sinister edge as he stalked towards his room, the crackling of his knuckles punctuating his ominous declaration. With a sense of grim purpose, Heeseung knew what he had to do. The message had been received, and Ghostface would soon learn the full extent of Heeseung's wrath.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As you struggled against the restraints, your body protesting every movement, you felt a surge of desperation overwhelming you. Ignoring the pain shooting through your limbs, you wriggled back and forth in a futile attempt to free yourself from the confines of the chair. Each movement was met with a chorus of protests from your protesting muscles, but you pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to escape.

Just as you tried to shift away from the IV stand, the sound of the door opening halted your movements. Your heart raced as you watched Ghostface enter the room once more, his presence casting a chilling shadow over the already dimly lit basement. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto yours as he approached, a syringe in his hand.

"Changed position, eh?" Ghostface remarked casually, his voice dripping with malice as he closed the distance between you. "Hey! Hey! No, keep that away from me!" you shouted, your voice trembling with desperation. Your screams of protest fell on deaf ears as he ignored your pleas, swiftly injecting the foreign substance into your arm with a zero disregard for your well-being. "There, was that so hard?"

The effects washed over you. A woozy sensation washed over you, your vision blurring as spots danced before your eyes. Your body felt weightless, disconnected from reality as the world spun around you. You tried to resist, but it was a losing battle. Before you knew it, consciousness slipped away, leaving you adrift in a sea of black.

Ghostface stood over your limp body, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With a rough tug on your hair, he ensured that you were thoroughly incapacitated before cutting you loose from the chair. Hoisting your unconscious form over his shoulder, he carried you upstairs to a dimly lit living room, where he deposited you into another chair.

Methodically, he bound your wrists together behind the chair with thick ropes, ensuring that you were securely restrained. Your legs followed suit, bound tightly with more rope until any hope of escape was extinguished. With a strip of duct tape pressed firmly over your mouth, he silenced any potential cries for help, leaving you gagged and helpless.

Finally, he placed a bag over your head, shrouding you in darkness as he left you alone in the silent room.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You stirred groggily, your senses slowly coming back to you as you regained consciousness. Pain radiated through your body, a constant reminder of the ordeal you had endured. You tried to blink away the darkness that surrounded you, but your vision remained obscured by the bag over your head. Panic welled up inside you as you realized you couldn't see, couldn't speak, couldn't move freely.

Your limbs felt heavy and restrained, bound tightly by the ropes that held you captive. With a muffled groan, you attempted to shift your position, but the bindings held firm, rendering your efforts futile. You could hear the faint murmur of a television in the background, the sound of a horror movie echoing through the room.

Suddenly, his voice cut through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. "Ah, you're awake!" he taunted, though you couldn't see him. You made an attempt to respond, but the tape over your mouth silenced any words that tried to escape, all you could do was make sounds of frustration and discomfort, hoping to convey your distress. "Be quiet," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. You huffed in frustration but complied, knowing that any resistance would only lead to further punishment.

As the minutes stretched into hours, hunger gnawed at your stomach, a reminder of your long captivity. "You hungry?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. You nodded, a futile gesture. "Aww, that's too bad. I haven't gone shopping at all," he taunted, his words a cruel reminder that he held all the power.

Time seemed to blur together as you sat in that uncomfortable position. The absence of sound and movement only served to amplify your sense of helplessness, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable. Anger simmered beneath the surface as you struggled against your restraints, the frustration of your situation boiling over with each passing moment.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

The oppressive silence was shattered by the sudden flick of a switch, followed by a deafening crash that reverberated through the room. Startled, you strained against your restraints, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. "Show yourself!" a deep voice bellowed, the authority in its tone sending a shiver down your spine. Without a doubt, you knew it was Heeseung. He had come for you.

As you listened intently, another voice joined the fray, equally deep but tinged with a sinister edge. "Ahh, such an honor to finally meet you, Ghostface," the other Ghostface purred, his words laced with malice. "I have waited long for this opportunity for us to meet. I just wished it was under different circumstances."

"Where is she?" Heeseung's voice demanded, "She's around here," Ghostface replied cryptically, sending a chill down your spine. "But I won't let you get to her, at least not yet."

"I don't give a fuck. I don't follow your rules," Heeseung retorted, his voice dripping with defiance. "I don't want you to follow me! I want to follow you!" Ghostface exclaimed, his desperation palpable. "Please! For months, I have followed your career, seen the massacre you have left behind! And you suddenly leave all that behind for what?! For a woman that isn't worth your time?!"

You couldn't help but feel a surge of disbelief at Ghostface 2's fanaticism. "She is worth everything to me," Heeseung stated firmly, his unwavering devotion evident in his voice. Suddenly, a cry rang out, followed by the sounds of chaos—a cacophony of things falling and breaking. "I killed for you! Is this how you treat your number one fan?!" Ghostface`s voice cracked with desperation.

But Heeseung's resolve remained unyielding. "I don't care! I never asked you to do this! You simply acted out and now you hurt my girl? Yeah, I don't think so!" His voice thundered with righteous fury, punctuated by the sounds of struggle and a shout of pain.

As the chaos unfolded, you could only listen helplessly, caught in the midst of a battle between two forces—one driven by love, the other by madness.

You strained against your restraints, the muffled sounds of struggle echoing around you. Suddenly, a loud thump reverberated through the space, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor. Your heart raced, and you tried to scream through the gag, unable to discern whose body had fallen.

In a swift motion, the bag covering your head was ripped away, and you squinted against the sudden onslaught of light, blinking rapidly to adjust. As your vision cleared, you found yourself face to face with the Ghostface mask, but a surge of relief washed over you when you realized it was Heeseung behind it.

"Are you okay, angel? I mean… of course, you're not okay! But like, I mean… oh, forget it," Heeseung's words tumbled out in a rush, a mix of concern and relief evident in his voice. Tears welled up in your eyes, as you spoke through the gag.

"It's okay, I'm here, angel. I'm here," Heeseung reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. With gentle hands, he removed the tape from your mouth, allowing you to draw in a shaky breath. As you gasped for air, Heeseung retrieved a knife and began cutting through the ropes binding your wrists.

However, your relief was short-lived as you noticed Ghostface stirring. Panic surged through you, and you tried to warn Heeseung, but your voice came out as a hushed whisper. Sensing your fear, Heeseung swiftly rose to his feet, positioning himself protectively in front of you. With a swift movement, he placed the knife in your hand.

The room reverberated with Ghostface's chilling laughter as he rose to his feet, his deranged chuckles echoing off the walls. His laughter turned more sinister as he threw his head back, his gaze fixing on you and Heeseung. "That was a good move! Really, Ghostface! You have such raw talent… don't you agree?" he taunted, but Heeseung remained silent.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you focused on cutting yourself free from the ropes binding your wrists, the knife Heeseung had given you proving to be your lifeline. With each precise cut, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, driving you to free yourself as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, Heeseung brandished a switchblade, as he prepared to defend both himself and you.

As Ghostface lunged towards Heeseung, the two engaged in a fierce struggle, their bodies colliding with force. Heeseung skillfully parried each blow, his movements fluid and calculated, but his priority remained protecting you from harm. With a sense of urgency, you worked feverishly to cut through the ropes binding your legs, your heart pounding in your chest as you pushed through the pain.

Suddenly, Ghostface managed to tackle Heeseung to the ground, raining down punches upon him as he writhed beneath the onslaught. In a desperate bid to intervene, you finally succeeded in freeing yourself from the ropes and staggered to your feet, your body protesting every movement.

Your eyes widened in horror as you witnessed Ghostface raising a knife, poised to strike Heeseung. Without a second thought, you screamed out in defiance and lunged forward, driving the knife into Ghostface's back with all your strength. The assailant let out a guttural scream of agony as you twisted the blade, causing him to stumble backward in shock and pain.

Heeseung wasted no time in seizing the opportunity, swiftly rising to his feet and catching you in his arms, pulling you close to him as you leaned against his chest. "I refuse this betrayal!" Ghostface roared in fury, wrenching the knife from his back with a cry of rage. Shifting his gaze between Heeseung and you, his twisted words dripping with hatred. "This whore is nothing compared to me!" he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

"She is not for you to compare, asshole!" Heeseung retorted, his voice ringing with defiance as he stood protectively in front of you.

Ghostface clutched the knife you had used to stab him, his eyes burned with fury as he lunged at Heeseung once again. But Heeseung was prepared this time. With lightning reflexes, he tackled Ghostface, the two adversaries crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and rage. They grappled fiercely, exchanging punches and kicks as they fought for dominance, the sound of their struggle echoing through the house.

Meanwhile, you stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do amidst the chaos unfolding before you. But Heeseung's urgent command snapped you out of your daze. "Y/N! Go!" he shouted. Responding instinctively, you scrambled to comply, your heart pounding with adrenaline-fueled urgency.

"Oh no you don`t!" Ghostface said, refusing to relent, lashed out with a vicious punch, striking Heeseung before seizing your ankle in a desperate attempt to impede your escape. You stumbled, falling to the ground under the force of his grip, but you refused to submit.

With a surge of determination, you kicked out fiercely, connecting with Ghostface's face with a resounding impact. He cried out in pain, his grip loosening as you scrambled away, seizing the opportunity to break free from his grasp.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you scoured the nearby rooms, the sounds of the struggle in the living room serving as a sign that you were in the clear. You moved quickly, until you found yourself in the kitchen. When suddenly, the sharp report of a gunshot rang out, causing you to startle and whirl around in alarm.

Before you could react, Ghostface appeared before you, brandishing a gun. "Come on!" Relief flooded through you as you realized it was Heeseung under the mask.

Ghostface's enraged shouts reverberated through the living room, with thundering steps echoing behind you, you and Heeseung hastily retreated, seeking any means of escape from the relentless pursuit.

Turning to face the approaching threat, you and Heeseung found yourselves confronted by Ghostface, his figure bearing witness to the injury inflicted upon him by Heeseung's well-aimed shot. Despite his wounded state, Ghostface pressed on, driven by a fanatical determination to capture his prey.

"Go!" Heeseung's urgent command sliced through the chaos, accompanied by the unmistakable click of a gun being aimed. You darted forward, seeking refuge as Heeseung lifted the weapon, his steely gaze fixed on Ghostface's retreating form. But the masked assailant found cover behind the kitchen island, evading the imminent threat of gunfire.

Scanning your surroundings frantically, you dashed through the family room, your heart pounding with adrenaline-fueled desperation. Your hopes were dashed as you attempted to open the balcony door, only to find it locked tight, sealing off any chance of escape. Frustration bubbled within you as you cursed under your breath, your mind racing for an alternative route to safety.

With no time to waste, you bolted into a nearby bedroom, seeking refuge within its confines. Turning to Heeseung for reassurance, you watched as he faced Ghostface, his ammunition depleted and his stance poised for combat. In a split-second exchange, Ghostface lunged forward with a vicious stab, aiming for Heeseung's form.

"No!" Your anguished cry echoed through the room as you witnessed the violent clash between the two adversaries. Heeseung's swift reflexes saved him from a direct blow, but the knife still found its mark, leaving a deep gash across his arm. With a pained grunt, Heeseung retaliated, delivering a forceful kick that sent Ghostface sprawling to the ground.

As the intense struggle continued, Ghostface seized Heeseung's leg, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. With swift precision, Ghostface climbed on top of Heeseung, raining down a barrage of punches upon him. Heeseung grunted in pain, his muscles straining as he attempted to defend himself against the relentless assault. In a desperate bid for control, Heeseung managed to reverse their positions, landing a series of powerful punches of his own before Ghostface retaliated, once again gaining the upper hand.

Meanwhile, you scanned the room for any potential weapon to aid in your escape. Your eyes landed on a wooden cutting board nearby, and without hesitation, you seized it, preparing for action. With determination fueling your movements, you swung the cutting board with all your strength, striking Ghostface squarely in the head. A sharp cry of pain echoed through the room as Ghostface staggered, momentarily stunned by the unexpected blow. Seizing the opportunity, Heeseung swiftly extricated himself from beneath Ghostface's grasp, urging you to flee with him.

Racing toward the front door, hope flickered within you as the possibility of escape loomed tantalizingly close. However, your relief was short-lived as a sudden jolt of agony pierced through your body, sending you crashing to the ground. As you struggled to comprehend the source of the pain, Heeseung turned back to you in alarm, only to be met with the chilling realization of your plight.

"I did it!" Ghostface's triumphant declaration pierced the air, his sinister presence looming behind you. You were violently pulled upright, as a surge of pain shot through you. With horrifying clarity, you realized that Ghostface had thrown a dagger at you, the searing pain in your back confirming the deadly accuracy of his aim. Tears welled in your eyes as you cried out in anguish, the agony of the wound searing through your senses.

"You motherfucker!" Heeseung's enraged voice reverberated through the room. Yet, the threat of the dagger pressed against your throat silenced any further action from Heeseung. Frozen in place, Heeseung stood helplessly.

Heeseung's trembling hands betrayed the fierce restraint he exercised, his entire being a coiled spring of tension as he struggled to contain his mounting fury. "Take off the mask," Ghostface's sudden command sliced through the air, demanding compliance with chilling authority. "What?" Heeseung's voice wavered with disbelief his gaze locked with Ghostface's behind the menacing mask.

"You heard me. I wanna see you. I wanna see my idol," Ghostface persisted, his grip tightening on your arm as he began to pull you along. With each step, the ache of your injuries throbbed relentlessly, but you forced yourself to endure, your resolve unyielding even as pain threatened to overwhelm you. As Ghostface ascended the stairs, dragging you along in his wake, Heeseung followed closely behind, his every movement fraught with tension.

"I went through all this effort! I mean, the bitch stabbed me, I had to quit soccer, kill my parents when they started to suspect! And the dot over the i was I had to hit your little angel here with my car! I mean, that car costed more than herself!"

His words hung heavy in the air, a chilling testament to the lengths he had gone to fulfill his twisted desires. But it was his admission of hitting you with his car that sent a shockwave of horror coursing through your veins. The memories flooded back in a torrent of images and sensations, the screeching tires, the sickening impact, the overwhelming darkness that followed.

Heeseung's reaction was visceral, his incredulous rage boiling over as he struggled to comprehend the depths of Ghostface's depravity. "You what!?!?" his voice rang out.

In a fit of unbridled fury, Heeseung lunged forward, his muscles coiled with tension as he prepared to unleash his pent-up wrath upon Ghostface. But just as his outstretched hands reached for Ghostface's throat, the masked assailant yelped in genuine fear, his reflexes kicking in as he swiftly pulled you with him, narrowly evading Heeseung's vicious assault.

The sheer velocity of his movements sent a shiver down your spine as you watched the scene unfold before you, the knife held perilously close to your throat. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Heeseung's gaze snapped to the spot where Ghostface now stood with you, after barely managing to dodge his attack, his fists clenched.

With a sharp intake of breath, Heeseung reeled back. Though the urge to lash out still simmered beneath the surface, he knew that his priority now was ensuring your safety, no matter the cost. And with a heavy sigh, Heeseung reluctantly acquiesced, raising his arms in resignation as he shed his hood and removed the mask, revealing his bruised and bloodied face beneath. Relief flooded through you at the sight of his familiar features, a stark contrast to the chilling facade of the Ghostface mask he wore.

But any semblance of comfort was shattered by Ghostface's chilling words, his laughter a haunting echo in the empty corridors. "Well.. well... well. If it isn't Lee Heeseung..." His voice dripped with malice, each word laced with contempt. "You know! Now that I think about it! You are really the perfect Ghostface! I can't believe I didn't see it before!"

Heeseung's response was a silent glare, his features twisted in a mask of restrained fury. But as Ghostface's attention remained fixed on Heeseung, you seized the opportunity for action. With a surge of adrenaline, you launched a swift kick at Ghostface's shin, causing him to yelp in pain and drop the knife he had been brandishing menacingly.

As the knife clattered to the ground, a familiar glint caught your eye—a flash of recognition amidst the chaos. It was the butterfly knife that Heeseung had gifted you, now tarnished with blood. Without hesitation, you snatched it up in your hand, gripping it.

Heeseung wasted no time with you free from Ghostface`s grip, he seized your hand. propelling you forward as he led the charge down the hallway. Behind you, Ghostface's enraged cries echoed through the corridors, a cacophony of curses and threats that fueled your desperate flight to safety.

Your feet stumbled over the uneven floor as you raced to escape the looming threat of Ghostface. The hallway stretched endlessly before you, the walls seeming to close in with each passing second, amplifying the urgency of your flight.

Finally, Heeseung burst through the door of an open room, dragging you inside before swiftly slamming it shut behind you.

As the room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of your pounding heart, Heeseung swiftly moved to lock the door, his hands trembling with urgency. The metal handle rattled violently as Ghostface exerted force from the other side, his relentless assault threatening to breach the flimsy barrier between safety and chaos. Heeseung's shock was palpable as he stared at the quivering door, his eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and determination.

While Heeseung grappled with the imminent threat at the door, your gaze swept across the room in search of any means of escape. The bedroom offered little in terms of refuge, its modest furnishings offering no sanctuary from the looming danger. You glanced out the window, but the sight of the daunting drop to the ground below dissuaded any thoughts of escape via that route.

Suddenly, the thundering assault on the door ceased, replaced by an eerie quiet that sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung's instincts kicked in, and he swiftly retreated, pulling you close as a deafening gunshot echoed through the room. The door handle shattered under the force of the bullet, sending wooden splinters flying as the door swung open, the lock rendered useless by Ghostface's firepower.

Heeseung's gasp of alarm prompted swift action as he dove, dragging you with him, to take cover behind the bed. The bed provided little protection from the onslaught, and you screamed as each shot rang out, the sound reverberating in your ears.

As the gun clicked empty, Ghostface cursed under his breath, the frustration evident in his voice as he fumbled for more ammunition. In that fleeting moment of respite, you blinked, and with a sudden burst of movement, Heeseung launched himself over the bed, his form a blur as he collided with Ghostface in a whirlwind of violence.

The two figures grappled on the floor again. Punches were thrown with reckless abandon. Rolling and tumbling across the floor, they fought tooth and nail, locked in a deadly dance of survival.

In a desperate bid for freedom, you seized the fleeting opportunity and bolted out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins. But as you raced down the hallway, the sudden eruption of gunshots and Heeseung's unmistakable yell pierced through the chaos, freezing you in your tracks. You whirled around in shock, only to find Ghostface charging towards you with menacing determination, his voice echoing with malice as he closed in.

"There's no escape, sweetheart!" His taunting words echoed through the air, sending shivers down your spine as you continued to flee. But despite your efforts, Ghostface swiftly caught up to you, his iron grip seizing hold of you and slamming you forcefully onto the unforgiving ground. Panic surged through you as his hands closed around your neck, squeezing the life out of you with merciless force. "You've been a thorn in my side for too long! This ends now!" he growled.

Desperation fueled your fight as you kicked and thrashed against him, your cries muffled by the crushing pressure of his hands. Tears blurred your vision as you gasped for precious air, the suffocating grip of Ghostface tightening with each passing moment. "Get off!" you choked out, your voice raw with anguish as the world spun around you. "I can't wait to see the life draining from your eyes," he hissed.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a sudden roar echoed through the air, and the weight of Ghostface was abruptly lifted from you. Gasping for breath, you watched through tear-streaked eyes as Heeseung launched himself at Ghostface, the two figures crashing through the railing of the stairs down to the first floor, the sound of their bodies hitting the floor echoing in your ears.

"Heeseung!" you rasped, your voice barely a whisper as you staggered down the stairs, your limbs trembling. At the bottom, you found them both lying motionless amidst the wreckage of shattered wood, their bodies battered and broken from the fall.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, you made it down beside Heeseung, the urgency of the moment driving you forward. You checked his pulse, relief washing over you as you felt the reassuring thump under your fingertips. He was alive. Alive and here, with you. "Please, Heeseung, stay with me! Stay with me, baby!" you pleaded, your voice quivering with fear and desperation as you caressed his cheek, willing him to awaken.

Your attention shifted to the bleeding wounds from the gunshot, adrenaline surging as you swiftly removed the Ghostface costume from his body. Beneath the facade of terror, Heeseung was clad in simple jeans and a bloodied sweater, his peaceful face a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you. Thinking quickly, you applied pressure to his wounds, your mind racing with fear and determination.

Just then, groans pierced the air, and you looked up to see Ghostface slowly rising. Panic surged through you, your heart pounding as you clung to Heeseung, shielding him with your body. As Ghostface turned toward you, his chilling words sent a shiver down your spine. "Well… I have to give it to you, Y/n… you not only survived Heeseung, but you also made him risk his life for you… good job," he remarked, as he stepped away from you.

Your shock quickly turned to terror as Ghostface returned quickly with a kitchen knife in hand, his intent clear. "I'll make this quick while Heeseung is still down," he declared, lunging forward in an attempt to grab you. With a surge of adrenaline, you evaded his grasp, your instincts driving you to flee. "Don't make this harder, Y/n!" he shouted after you as you dashed away, his menacing presence lingering in the air like a chilling specter of doom.

As you bolted down the dimly lit hallway, your heart thundered in your chest, each beat urging you forward in a frantic bid for escape. Behind you, the echoing footsteps of Ghostface followed ominously, driving you to push your trembling legs to their limits.

With every turn, you found yourself met with locked doors and barred windows, each obstacle serving as a grim reminder of your dire circumstances. Panic clawed at the edges of your mind as you desperately searched for any means of escape.

In a blur of motion, you careened into a deserted living room, the musty air heavy with the oppressive weight of fear. The dim glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls like specters of the night.

As you scanned the room for a way out, your eyes fell upon a set of double doors leading to a balcony. With a surge of hope, you rushed towards them, your fingers grasping at the cold metal handle in a desperate attempt to break free from the suffocating confines of the house.

But your hopes were dashed as you found the doors locked tight, the cruel reality of your situation crashing down upon you like a tidal wave. Frantically, you rattled the handle, the sound of your pounding heart drowning out the desperate pleas for salvation that echoed in your mind.

Behind you, Ghostface drew closer, looming like a specter in the darkness. With each passing moment, the gap between you narrowed, his chilling laughter ringing in your ears like a death knell.

Forced to abandon the balcony as a means of escape, you turned and bolted down another hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as you fled from the encroaching darkness that pursued you relentlessly.

As you ran, you could feel the tendrils of exhaustion creeping in, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as your muscles screamed in protest. Yet, driven by sheer instinct and the primal urge to survive, you pressed on.

With every passing second, the house seemed to close in around you, its labyrinthine halls twisting and turning like a maze designed to ensnare the unwary. Yet, through sheer grit and determination, you fought against the suffocating grip of despair, refusing to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume you whole.

In a desperate bid for survival, you ducked into a cluttered study, the musty scent of old books filling the air as you scanned the room for a means of escape. But before you could react, Ghostface burst through the doorway.

With lightning reflexes, you dodged his initial lunge, the sharp edge of the blade grazing your shoulder as you stumbled backward. Ignoring the searing pain, you seized upon the nearest object—a heavy desk lamp—and swung it with all your might, the metal base connecting with Ghostface's arm with a sickening thud.

With a cry of pain, he recoiled, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow. Seizing the opportunity, you darted past him, racing down the hallway, the echoes of his enraged shouts echoing in your wake.

But Ghostface was relentless, his footsteps thundering behind you as you rounded a corner, you stumbled upon a small alcove, its shelves lined with an assortment of knick-knacks and trinkets. Without hesitation, you seized upon a porcelain vase, its delicate form offering little resistance as you hurled it at Ghostface with all your might.

The vase shattered upon impact, sending a spray of ceramic shards cascading through the air as Ghostface recoiled, you darted past him once more, heart pounding in your chest as you raced towards the nearest exit.

As you ran towards the front where you had left Heeseung, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, you heard a sickening crunch from behind you. With a jolt, you turned around, your eyes widening in shock as you witnessed Heeseung swinging the wooden cutting board with all his might, striking Ghostface squarely in the face. The force of the blow caused Ghostface to stumble backward, dropping the knife in the process.

Frozen in place, you watched in disbelief as Heeseung grabbed a machete from seemingly nowhere, his expression resolute as he raised it high, ready to deliver a fatal blow. Before you could react, you shouted out, "No!"

But it was too late. With a swift motion, Heeseung brought the machete down, aiming directly at Ghostface. However, instead of slashing, the blade pierced through the cloak of Ghostface, slicing through the fabric and embedding itself into the wooden floor below.

Your eyes widened in shock as Heeseung collapsed, the exertion of the fight taking its toll on him. Without hesitation, you rushed to his side, holding him close as you called out his name desperately. Heeseung's breathing was slow and labored, his gaze still fixed on Ghostface with a fierce intensity.

Turning your attention to Ghostface, you watched as Heeseung stretched out his trembling hand and tore off the mask, revealing the face beneath. In that moment, everything seemed to freeze as the weight of the truth settled upon you.

It was Taehyung....

How could you have been so blind? How could you have missed the signs, the subtle clues that now seemed glaringly obvious?

With a mix of relief and horror, you held onto Heeseung, gently cradling his head, your heart aching at the sight of him wounded and exhausted.

As you slowly helped Heeseung up, his weight leaning heavily on you, you both made your way to the front door, as you reached out to try the door handle, the cruel reality of your situation slammed into you. Locked.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, frustration and desperation clawing at your throat. Casting a quick glance around the house, your eyes settled on a room, a potential source of salvation. "I'll be right back," you promised Heeseung, guiding him to a corner where he could rest against the wall.

Limping toward the room, every step a painful reminder of the ordeal you had endured, you scanned the space for something—anything—that could break down the door. Just as you were about to return with your makeshift weapon, the air was pierced by the sound of yelling and shouting, a cacophony of rage and desperation.

Heart pounding, you hurried back to the scene, but what you found was beyond your worst nightmares. Both Taehyung and Heeseung were gone, leaving behind only pools of blood and the gleaming machete on the floor. "Heeseung?!" you cried out, the word tearing from your throat like a desperate plea.

Instead, the sound of glass shattering drew your attention to the back of the house. Racing through the living room to the family room, you skidded to a halt at the shattered backdoor, where Taehyung and Heeseung were locked in a vicious struggle amidst a sea of broken glass.

Taehyung's face was a mask of fury and pain, his features twisted with anger and resentment, while Heeseung's own visage bore the marks of battle, blood trickling from a wound on his head. They traded blows, each punch a symphony of violence and determination, as they fought tooth and nail for their lives.

"You are not worthy of bearing the mask!" Taehyung's voice echoed through the chaos, his words dripping with venom. Heeseung's response was swift and furious, his own voice ringing out with defiance. "It's not about being worthy! It's about coverage, you son of a bitch!"

As you tried to make your way through the chaotic opening, your eyes widened in shock as you witnessed Heeseung's desperate move. Gripping a jagged chunk of broken glass, he drove it mercilessly through Taehyung's stomach, the latter's cry of surprise piercing the air. Taehyung staggered back, clutching the shard tightly in disbelief, his eyes darting between the blood-soaked glass and Heeseung's face, a mixture of shock and fury contorting his features.

Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the scene unfolded before you, the violence and brutality of it all threatening to overwhelm your senses. But in the midst of the chaos, you failed to realize the danger looming perilously close to you.

Taehyung, his gaze ablaze with a twisted resolve, caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye. "I may never be worthy of your praise… but I'm at least not going down alone," he spat, his voice dripping with venomous intent.

With a sudden whirl of motion, Taehyung pulled out the glass shard, his movements fueled by a primal desperation, and lunged toward you with a bloodcurdling scream. The other end of the shard found its mark, plunging into your stomach with a searing pain that radiated through every fiber of your being. "No!" Heeseung's anguished cry echoed in your ears as he rushed to your side, catching you before you could collapse to the ground.

"Y/n! Baby! Stay with me, please!" Heeseung's voice was raw with emotion as he cradled your head in his trembling hands. Through the haze of agony, you struggled to focus, your vision blurred as tears stung your eyes. All around you, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the cold, indifferent gaze of the night sky above.

As Heeseung desperately pleaded for you to stay awake, his words echoed faintly in the recesses of your mind. "Please, baby! Angel, don't close your eyes!" His voice trembled with anguish, each syllable a desperate plea to keep you tethered to consciousness. But the world around you seemed to blur into an indistinct haze, and you struggled to focus through the fog of pain and exhaustion.

The chill of the night air seeped into your skin, a biting reminder of the harsh reality surrounding you. With a delirious gaze, you tried to meet Heeseung's eyes, but the blurriness that clouded your vision thwarted your attempts. All you could manage were shallow breaths, each inhalation laced with a searing ache that radiated from the wound in your stomach.

In a feeble attempt to alleviate your suffering, you weakly pushed against Heeseung's hands as he sought to tend to your wound. "No, please!" His voice cracked with emotion as he persisted, hastily wrapping the wound with his sweater, the fabric stained with a grim mosaic of dirt and blood. The pristine white of your angelic dress had long been tainted, obscured by the grim realities of the night's ordeal.

The last semblance of awareness flickered within you as you registered a primal snarl echoing through the darkness, followed by the sensation of Heeseung's warm hands slipping away from your skin. And then, like a veil descending over your senses, darkness enveloped you, swallowing you whole in its unfathomable depths.

In that silent void, devoid of sensation or perception, you floated in a state of limbo. Time ceased to hold any meaning, and you drifted aimlessly, suspended between the realms of life and death. Was this the end, the culmination of your journey? In the quiet expanse of the void, you pondered the elusive nature of mortality, wondering if this was indeed the final chapter of your existence.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

As consciousness gradually seeped back into your being, you felt the weight of your entire body, as if every limb was burdened by a heavy weariness. Slowly, tentatively, you blinked your eyes open, greeted by the sterile whiteness of a ceiling. Confusion clouded your thoughts momentarily, casting a veil over your senses as you struggled to comprehend your surroundings.

Your gaze drifted downward, and to your astonishment, you found yourself confined to a hospital bed, ensnared by a web of tubes and IV lines tethering you to the medical apparatus. An oxygen mask obscured part of your face, its presence a reminder of the fragility of your existence. Squinting against the harsh glare of the hospital lights, you turned your head slightly, your eyes alighting upon the heart monitor stationed beside you.

But amidst the bewildering array of medical equipment, your gaze was drawn to a familiar sight—an unmistakable tuft of hair that stirred a surge of recognition within you. Heeseung. The name reverberated through your mind, a whisper of clarity amidst the fog of uncertainty. He lay beside you, clad in hospital attire, his form relaxed in slumber as he clasped your hand in his, a silent vigil of unwavering devotion.

A swell of emotion welled within you as you beheld his peaceful countenance, a silent guardian standing sentinel by your bedside. Despite the chaos that had besieged you both, he remained steadfast in his resolve, a beacon of strength and solace in the midst of turmoil. The sight of him stirred a profound sense of gratitude and affection within you, flooding your heart with a warmth that transcended the sterile confines of the hospital room.

As you attempted to move, the realization dawned upon you that you were restrained, bound by invisible chains that restricted your movements. A soft groan escaped your lips, a testament to your frustration and discomfort. However, that small sound was enough to rouse Heeseung from his slumber. Blinking his eyes open, he stirred and sat up, his gaze immediately fixating on you.

Fading bruises adorned his face, serving as a reminder of the extended time you had spent in this hospital bed. It became evident that you had been confined here for a considerable period.

Heeseung's eyes filled with tears of relief as his gaze locked onto yours. His whole face seemed to light up at the sight of you awake, his emotions overflowing as he reached for your hand. "Y/n!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed gentle kisses to your hand. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders, his relief palpable as he visibly relaxed in your presence.

Struggling to find your voice, you attempted to utter his name, but your throat felt dry and parched. Heeseung seemed to understand your silent plea, and with gentle care, he rose from the bed, his movements fueled by a sense of urgency. Finding a bottle of water, he quickly opened it, offering you a reprieve from your thirst.

With tender precision, he adjusted your oxygen mask, allowing you to drink. The cool liquid washed over your parched throat, a refreshing sensation that brought tears to your eyes. It had been days, perhaps weeks, since you last had a drink, and the simple act of quenching your thirst felt like a luxury.

As you drank, Heeseung watched you with a mixture of love and concern, his gaze softening as he witnessed your relief. Once you had finished, he carefully replaced your oxygen mask, settling back beside you with a smile. His eyes were filled with an overwhelming sense of adoration as he regarded you.

"My strong angel," he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he praised your resilience. You returned his smile, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that existed between you. However, as the memories of your time spent unconscious flooded back, a question lingered on your lips.

"How long have I been here?" you inquired, your voice tinged with uncertainty. Heeseung's expression darkened slightly, a grimace crossing his features as he scratched his neck in discomfort. "Three weeks," he muttered, his tone heavy with regret.

"And Taehyung?" you asked, the name leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you uttered it. Heeseung's expression mirrored your unease, his features tensing slightly in response to the mention of Taehyung's name. "He's… gone," he replied somberly, confirming your suspicions. "He… is?" you questioned further, seeking confirmation from Heeseung. With a solemn nod, he affirmed Taehyung's fate.

"Did you kill him?" you inquired, surprised by your own nonchalant tone. Heeseung seemed taken aback by your question, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he nodded silently in response. A sense of calm washed over you, a strange relief settling in your heart. Under normal circumstances, you would never condone taking another's life, but in this instance, Taehyung had brought you nothing but suffering and pain. The thought of his demise brought you no remorse.

Heeseung had been your salvation, your protector amidst the chaos. His actions, though violent, were driven by a sense of duty and love for you. In contrast, Taehyung had succumbed to darkness, consumed by his relentless pursuit of approval from Heeseung. His descent into madness had left him irredeemable, a shadow of the person he once was.

In that moment, as you locked eyes with Heeseung, you knew that you had found your sanctuary, a haven from the storms that had ravaged your life. And as he returned your gaze with a love-struck expression, you felt a warmth spread through your being.

"What about Ghostface?" you inquired, seeking closure on the ordeal that had plagued your life.

Heeseung's response was swift and confident, his voice laced with assurance. "It's all taken care of, angel. They have no evidence," he assured you, his words bringing a sense of relief to your troubled mind.

As you nodded in gratitude, Heeseung's gaze softened, his thoughts drifting to a conversation you had shared earlier. "I was thinking about what you said… at my house," he began, prompting your curiosity.

Instantly, the memory flooded back to you, and you understood the weight of his words. "I do trust you, Angel… it's just, I didn't have much control over my life when my mother was around," he confessed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And my father wasn't much help… I was at my limit, I couldn't take it anymore. Everything was too much, but I found my solace by hiding behind a mask… like a coward," he admitted, his tone heavy with remorse.

He let out a sigh, his gaze falling momentarily before meeting yours once again. "And I thought… why should I be the only one to suffer? And my road took me down a dark path which I regret… and I thought there was no saving me. Until you came," he confessed, his voice softer now, filled with vulnerability.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, prompting Heeseung to continue. "You became my new solace, Angel… and suddenly life was worth living," he admitted, his words carrying the weight of his emotions. "Without you, I'm helpless, lost, misguided. I need you in my life. You are my oxygen, without you I'll go crazy," he confessed, his lips pressing gently against the back of your hand as he spoke.

As Heeseung gazed into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart flutter, he uttered those words that you had been longing to hear. "Y/n… be my girlfriend, please? Officially? Let me be your boyfriend, my love," he pleaded, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity.

Your heart ached with a mixture of joy and relief as you nodded in response. "I will be your girlfriend," you confirmed, your voice barely a whisper as emotions surged within you.

Heeseung leaned over you, his movements gentle and deliberate as he lowered your oxygen mask, allowing you both to share a kiss that was filled with all the love and devotion that had blossomed between you. It began slowly, a tender exploration of each other's lips, but soon ignited into a passionate exchange as the depth of your feelings poured into the intimate gesture.

As you pulled back, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, Heeseung's eyes held a silent question, one that you answered with a nod of consent. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards the bed beside you.

With a nod, you granted him permission, and Heeseung carefully climbed beside you, settling himself close as he wrapped his arms around you protectively. He adjusted your oxygen mask with gentle hands, his touch comforting and reassuring as he leaned his head against your chest, finding solace in the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You began to play with his hair, relishing in the softness of his locks beneath your fingertips. You noticed the stitches on his head, with a pang of guilt for the pain he had endured on your behalf, you traced the lines of his stitches with tender care.

As the rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the room, you felt yourself drifting into a peaceful slumber, cradled in the warmth of his love. And as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

After weeks of healing in the hospital, your miraculous recovery became the talk of the town. News of your awakening spread like wildfire, making headlines in newspapers and capturing the attention of the entire community. The tale of your survival, coupled with the bravery of your boyfriend, Heeseung, captivated the hearts of many.

Within the span of a single day, the story of your ordeal unfolded across social media platforms and news outlets. The community rallied behind you, celebrating your resilience. The truth about Ghostface's demise emerged, revealing that you and Heeseung had acted in self-defense, bringing an end to the reign of terror that had plagued your lives.

As the days passed, the mystery surrounding the original Ghostface's disappearance and apparent retirement only added to the intrigue of the tale. Speculations and theories abounded, but one thing remained certain—Ghostface had become a mere legacy, a chapter in history buried beneath the weight of your survival and newfound strength.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

Under the somber light of the setting sun, Heeseung stood in the forest. In his hands, he held a small wooden box containing his Ghostface costume. With a solemn expression, he carefully dug a hole in the earth, the shovel scraping against the soil.

With a heavy heart, Heeseung placed the box into the ground, covering it with soil as if burying the ghosts of the past. He stood there for a moment, silent and contemplative, bidding farewell to the shadows that had haunted him for so long.

Meanwhile, you stood a little distance away, giving him the space he needed to say his farewells.

After a moment, Heeseung walked back to where you stood, his expression softened by the warmth of your presence. As you held out your hand to him, he took it without hesitation.

"Ready?" you asked softly, your voice a gentle reassurance. Heeseung nodded, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering resolve. "Ready," he affirmed, his hand tightening around yours as you walked away from the gravesite.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You laid comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn as the horror movie played on the TV screen. When a jump scare startled you, you instinctively hid your face in your boyfriend's shoulder, seeking comfort from the sudden fright. Heeseung, lying beside you, wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

"Are you okay, angel?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. You looked up at him, pouting slightly, as he smirked back at you. "I'm fine, thank you very much," you replied, turning your attention back to the movie. But Heeseung gently lifted your chin, making you meet his gaze. "You sure?" he pressed, refusing to let you off easily.

You nodded, trying to reassure him, but he held your jaw firmly. "Words, princess," he insisted. With a sigh, you repeated, "I'm fine." He hummed in response, leaning in as if to kiss you. Anticipating the kiss, you leaned forward too, but he merely snagged some popcorn kernels from your bowl, earning a playful protest from you.

"Hey, my popcorn!" you exclaimed, trying to snatch it back. He dodged your attempts, prompting you to climb onto his lap in pursuit. "Woah!" he exclaimed in surprise as you succeeded in reclaiming your snack, eating it with a smug expression.

But your victory was short-lived as you felt Heeseung's hands on your hips, causing you to look down and realize your position on his lap. His gaze was appreciative as he leaned back, admiring you with a lazy expression. "You look so good like that, angel," he murmured, his hands tracing patterns on your waist and hips.

"Don't get used to it," you warned, attempting to climb off his lap. However, Heeseung had other plans, easily pulling you back down with a playful smirk.

You looked down at Heeseung, confusion evident in your expression as you wondered what was going on in his mind. "What is this?" you asked, unsure of his intentions.

Heeseung's gaze softened as he looked up at you, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Nothing, just thinking about how lucky I am to have you as my girlfriend," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

Feeling your cheeks flush with warmth, you looked away shyly, unable to contain the flutter of emotions in your chest. But before you could gather your thoughts, Heeseung suddenly pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

Giggles bubbled from your lips as you both rolled on the couch, caught up in the playful moment. Heeseung showered you with kisses, peppering your face with affectionate gestures that elicited more laughter from you. "Stoooop!" you protested between giggles, squirming in his grasp as you tried to escape his playful onslaught.

But Heeseung showed no signs of relenting, his laughter blending with yours as he continued to shower you with affection. "Never!" he declared playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he held you close.

You managed to wriggle out of Heeseung's tight grip and quickly scrambled to the other side of the couch, putting some distance between the two of you. But when you glanced back, you saw Heeseung following after you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips curved into a playful smirk. "Trying to run from me, angel?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

With a laugh, you climbed over the armrest of the couch and dashed through the house, the sound of your laughter echoing in the air.

Boxes from your recent move lay scattered around, adding an obstacle course-like challenge to your playful chase. "Just try and catch me, babe!" you called out teasingly as Heeseung chased after you, the thrill of the chase filling the air with excitement.

The house was soon filled with the cheerful melody of your laughter as Heeseung finally managed to catch up to you. With a mischievous grin, he began tickling you, eliciting joyful protests and giggles from you. "Heeseung!" you laughed, squirming under his touch. "Stop, please! I yield!"

Heeseung relented, pulling back with a satisfied grin, but then he lifted you up and settled back onto the couch, holding you close in his arms. "I caught you, I deserve a prize, don't I?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he tapped his cheek playfully, silently requesting a kiss.

"I think you do," you replied with a grin, leaning in to kiss his cheek. But he turned at the last moment, catching your lips in a sweet, unexpected kiss. You smiled at his playful behavior, returning the kiss with equal affection as you melted into his embrace.

As Heeseung maneuvered you effortlessly, you found yourself lying on your back on the couch, with him hovering over you, his lips never leaving yours. Your hands slipped up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the intensity of the kiss deepened. With one hand supporting his weight above you, Heeseung's other hand began to explore, trailing a path from your chest down to your waist, then to your hip and thigh, mapping out every curve of your body with a gentle touch that sent shivers down your spine. As his hand returned to grip your waist, you couldn't help but gasp, granting him permission to deepen the kiss further.

Heeseung's lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, his kiss a tantalizing blend of passion and desire that left you breathless. Eventually, he pulled back, allowing both of you to catch your breath. You took in deep lungfuls of air as you gazed up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and affection.

"Stop looking at me like that," you told him, your voice breathy and soft. "Like what?" Heeseung asked innocently, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Like I'm food," you explained, a hint of playful annoyance in your tone.

A smirk played on Heeseung's lips as he bit down on his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "Well, maybe I'm hungry," he replied, his voice low and husky with desire.

As Heeseung's lips melded with yours in a fervent embrace, the world around you seemed to fade into oblivion. His kisses grew increasingly desperate, a reflection of the burning need that coursed through his veins, igniting every fiber of your being with an intensity that left you breathless.

With each tender caress of his lips, Heeseung worshipped every inch of your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands roamed with a purposeful urgency, tracing the curves of your form with an almost reverent touch as he whispered words of adoration and praise against your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed kisses along the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "I can't get enough of you." His words sent shivers down your spine, igniting a primal desire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

In the heat of the moment, all inhibitions melted away as you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating allure of his touch.

"You're my one and only," Heeseung confessed, his words a solemn vow that resonated deep within your soul.

As you and Heeseung shared passionate kisses on the couch, little did you know that nestled within his sock drawer lay a small velvet box, its contents a secret that he held close to his heart. Inside rested a symbol of his deepest commitment, a ring that he planned to reveal to you at the perfect moment, a moment that would signify his unwavering love and devotion to you.

For now, the box remained hidden, a precious treasure waiting to be unveiled when the time was right. As you melted into each other's embrace, lost in the bliss of the present moment, Heeseung's thoughts drifted to the future, to the day when he would kneel before you and ask for your hand in marriage, sealing your love for eternity.

But until then, he cherished these stolen moments with you, savoring every kiss and every touch as a testament to the deep bond that they shared.

Part 3 coming soon