The first time I saw him, it was an accident. The second time, it wasn’t.

I was sitting at my usual café, the one with the fogged-up windows and dim lighting, sipping my coffee and watching the city move past me. The rain had just started, misting the pavement in a slick sheen, and the streetlamps buzzed with static light. That’s when I noticed him—tall, effortlessly elegant, moving through the crowd like he didn’t belong to it.

Something about him caught my attention, though I couldn’t place what. Maybe it was the way he walked—too deliberate, too smooth, as if the world around him barely existed. Maybe it was the fact that, despite the cold, he had his coat draped over one shoulder, unaffected by the wind that sent everyone else huddling into themselves.

I don’t remember deciding to follow him. It just happened.

At first, it was nothing more than curiosity. I trailed behind at a safe distance, watching as he weaved through the streets, never once hesitating at a turn, never stopping to check his phone or look around like everyone else did. He moved as if he knew exactly where he was going, as if the entire city had already laid itself out before him.

I told myself it was just for fun. A game. I wasn’t obsessed.

But then it became a habit.

Each night, I found myself looking for him, waiting for him to appear. And he always did. A glimpse of his dark coat on the other side of the street, the flicker of his silhouette disappearing down an alley, the briefest reflection in a shop window. The more I followed, the more I began to learn.

He liked his coffee black, no sugar. Always took the seat near the back of a café, where his back was to the wall, eyes on the entrance. He never used his phone in public. Never took the same route twice.

The thrill of watching him, of knowing him without him knowing me, was intoxicating.

Until one night, everything changed.

It started with something small. I had been following him for about fifteen minutes, keeping my usual careful pace, when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. No warning, no hesitation. He just froze.

I barely managed to duck behind a parked car before he turned his head slightly, as if listening for something. The seconds stretched out, long and unbearable, before he finally continued walking.

For the first time, I felt something close to fear.

Had he noticed me? No. That wasn’t possible. I was careful, always careful. I never got too close, never did anything to give myself away.

But then, over the next few days, the signs began to pile up.

The way he would sometimes glance over his shoulder, just for a second, as if looking for someone. The way he changed directions more frequently, taking unpredictable turns that forced me to scramble to keep up.

And then, one night, he vanished.

I was watching from across the street, waiting for him to exit a small bookstore. The rain had started again, drizzling softly against my coat, and my breath fogged in the cold air. I glanced away for only a second—just long enough to check my watch.

When I looked back, he was gone.

Panic surged through me.

I moved quickly, crossing the street, scanning the empty sidewalk. He couldn’t have gone far. He had been right there.

I turned into an alley, my footsteps loud against the wet pavement. My heartbeat quickened. The further I walked, the more the silence pressed in around me. Something wasn’t right.

Then I saw it.

A message scrawled in red ink on the brick wall ahead.

You’re not very good at this.

The cold rush of adrenaline in my veins was immediate, sharp. I took a step back, my breath catching.

And then—

A voice, smooth and low, right behind me.

"I was wondering how long you'd keep this up."

I spun around, pulse hammering.

He was standing there, just a few feet away, his dark eyes watching me with quiet amusement. He looked impossibly calm, hands in the pockets of his coat, his posture completely at ease.

"You—" My throat was dry. "How long—?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Since the beginning."

My stomach dropped.

He had known. The entire time, he had known.

The realization sent a wave of something sharp and electric through me. This wasn’t a game anymore. It had never been.

He took a slow step forward, and I found myself frozen in place, unable to move, unable to think.

"Now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "tell me something."

I swallowed hard. "What?"

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

"Why did you follow me?"

I didn’t have an answer.

Or maybe, I was too afraid to say it out loud.

Episode One: The Hunter and the Hunted

The night was thick with the scent of rain, the neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement like shattered fragments of color. Jungkook pulled his hood lower over his face, blending into the late-night crowd. His breath was steady, his pulse controlled. He had done this so many times before that it was second nature—watch, follow, disappear.

But this time was different.

Because Taehyung was leading him.

Jungkook had spent weeks believing he was the one in control, the one stalking from the shadows. He had memorized Taehyung’s habits, the rhythm of his days, the places he frequented. It had become a dangerous thrill, watching him without being seen.

And then last night happened.

That message. That voice behind him.

"I was wondering how long you’d keep this up."

The words still echoed in Jungkook’s head, sending a sharp rush of heat and unease through his body. Taehyung had known. The entire time. And instead of confronting him, he had played along, letting Jungkook believe he was unseen, only to turn the game around when he least expected it.

Now, for the first time, Jungkook wasn’t sure who was chasing whom.

He watched from a distance as Taehyung entered a quiet jazz bar tucked between dimly lit alleys. It was small, intimate—the kind of place that made Jungkook’s skin prickle with awareness. If this was a trap, it was a well-set one.

Jungkook hesitated only a second before pushing open the door.

The air inside was warm, laced with the rich scent of whiskey and something slow, smooth—a saxophone crooning in the background. Taehyung was already seated in a booth near the back, one arm draped lazily over the velvet seat, a drink in his other hand. His gaze lifted the second Jungkook stepped inside, and a slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

Jungkook swallowed hard.

There was no point pretending anymore.

He moved toward Taehyung’s table, his legs feeling heavier with each step. He hadn’t been invited, but somehow, he knew Taehyung had been expecting him.

"Sit," Taehyung murmured, his voice like velvet, thick with amusement.

Jungkook didn’t argue. He slid into the seat across from him, heart pounding in his throat. Up close, Taehyung was even more dangerous—sharp jawline, dark eyes that gleamed under the dim lighting. He was too beautiful. Too unreadable.

Too in control.

Taehyung tilted his head, watching him like a cat with a trapped bird. "Tell me," he mused, taking a sip of his drink. "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you?"

Jungkook clenched his jaw. He should have walked away. Should have lied. But under Taehyung’s gaze, every carefully built wall inside him felt like it was crumbling.

"I thought I was careful," he admitted.

Taehyung chuckled, low and deep. "You were." He set his glass down, leaning in slightly. "But I was waiting for you."

Jungkook's breath hitched.

Taehyung's fingers trailed along the edge of his glass, slow, deliberate. "The real question is," he murmured, "why did you follow me?"

Jungkook couldn't answer. Not truthfully. Not without exposing something dangerous—something Taehyung already seemed to know.

The tension between them was suffocating, thick and charged, pulling Jungkook into something he wasn’t sure he could escape from.

And then, Taehyung smiled again, this time softer, more dangerous.

"You're already trapped, Jungkook," he whispered. "So tell me… what are you going to do about it?"

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his fingers curling against his knee.

He had followed Taehyung for weeks, convinced he was the one hunting.

But now, as Taehyung leaned back, watching him with that quiet, knowing confidence, Jungkook realized the truth.

He had been the prey all along.

Episode Two: Caught in the Net

The moment Jungkook woke up, he knew something was wrong.

His head was heavy, his body sluggish, the dim lighting around him flickering in and out of focus. He tried to move, but his wrists wouldn’t budge. A slow, creeping panic spread through his chest as he tugged again, harder this time, only to hear the soft jingle of metal.

Handcuffs.

His vision cleared, and that’s when he saw him.

Taehyung.

He was sitting just a few feet away, legs crossed, watching him with the same calm, unreadable gaze that had haunted Jungkook’s thoughts for weeks. He looked completely at ease, dressed in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled up lazily as if this was just another casual night for him.

Jungkook’s heart pounded violently against his ribs.

"What the hell is this?" he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Taehyung tilted his head, resting his elbow on the armrest of the leather chair beside him. "You followed me for weeks," he mused, tapping his fingers against his chin. "Now, I figured it was my turn to follow you somewhere."

Jungkook’s hands curled into fists. "You drugged me?"

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of Taehyung’s lips. "Just a little something to make the trip easier." His gaze drifted lazily over Jungkook’s body, as if admiring his handiwork. "I couldn’t have you panicking halfway."

Jungkook took a shaky breath, his mind racing. He was sitting in what looked like a high-end penthouse, sleek black walls and floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city below. He wasn’t in some abandoned warehouse or a dirty basement—no, this was far more calculated, far more controlled.

Taehyung wasn’t a reckless criminal. He was something worse.

"Let me go," Jungkook said, his voice low, dangerous.

Taehyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And if I don’t?"

Jungkook yanked at the cuffs again, jaw clenching. "Then I’ll make you regret it."

Something flickered in Taehyung’s eyes at that—something dark, intrigued.

"You’re cute when you’re angry," he murmured.

Jungkook gritted his teeth, his pulse spiking as Taehyung stood up and took slow, deliberate steps toward him.

"You think I don’t know why you followed me?" Taehyung continued, crouching down until he was eye level with Jungkook. His fingers ghosted over the chain between the cuffs, testing its weight. "You could’ve stopped anytime. But you didn’t."

Jungkook’s breath caught as Taehyung reached out, fingers barely grazing his chin, tilting his face up just enough to force their eyes to meet.

"You wanted this," Taehyung whispered.

Jungkook’s body betrayed him—his skin burning where Taehyung’s touch lingered, his breath coming quicker than it should. He hated that Taehyung was right, that despite every warning in his head, a part of him had wanted to be caught.

Taehyung’s thumb brushed against his lower lip, his smirk deepening.

"Now," he murmured, "what should I do with you?"

Jungkook swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears.

He had chased Taehyung for weeks, thinking he was the one in control.

Now, bound and at his mercy, he finally understood—

Taehyung had let him play the game.

But he had always been the one setting the rules.