Chapter 1

The city didn’t sleep, not because it was alive—but because something was always dying.

It was 3:47 a.m. when Detective Jeon Jungkook stood over the latest corpse, steam rising from the asphalt like the city itself was trying to exhale the rot. Rain clung to his black coat, his boots soaked through, but his eyes—sharp, cold, unreadable—didn’t waver from the body at his feet.

Female. Late twenties. Same cut, same staging. Pale skin slit from ear to ear like a cruel smile. A delicate red thread tied tight around her left ring finger.

Like a promise she never made.

“Third one this month,” his partner muttered beside him. “Think it’s the same guy?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. His jaw tightened. His eyes shifted to the alley’s end, where a sliver of warm light leaked from the café across the street. Hellebore. Pretentious name. Beautiful lighting. Immaculate glass windows.

And always—always—him.

Kim Taehyung.

He stood behind the counter like a painting in motion, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, fingers pouring espresso with reverence. Like the act of serving coffee was holy. His gaze flicked up—slowly, deliberately.

Right into Jungkook’s.

They held each other like that for a beat too long. Then Jungkook turned away first. Always.

He didn’t remember when it started—this obsession. Maybe after the second murder, when Taehyung showed up at the scene uninvited. Said he couldn’t sleep, brought coffee. Jungkook had taken it. Said nothing. Drank it anyway.

Now he was drinking it every morning.

And maybe… dreaming about the man who served it.

Later that morning, Jungkook entered Hellebore. The bell above the door chimed softly, delicate as a warning.

Taehyung looked up, and smiled.

“Detective,” he greeted, voice low and unhurried. “Thought you’d be sleeping off the dead.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“Neither do the guilty.”

That earned a pause. Jungkook stepped forward, the space between them thick with silence. His eyes scanned the pristine countertop, the perfect alignment of cups and saucers. Too clean. Too precise.

Just like the crime scenes.

“You always this poetic at dawn?” Jungkook asked.

Taehyung cocked his head. “Only for you.”

There it was again—that electric pulse beneath the skin of every word they exchanged. Taehyung slid him a cup without asking. Black. No sugar.

Jungkook took a sip, never breaking eye contact. “Why were you near the alley this morning?”

“I live upstairs,” Taehyung answered smoothly, leaning in. “But maybe I just like following you.”

The heat between them flickered, then flared.

Jungkook could feel it. The tension. The danger. The question behind every glance: Do you know what I did?

The answer behind every smile: Do you want me to?

He reached into his coat, pulled out a small plastic bag, and placed it on the counter. Inside was a photograph: the victim’s hand. The red string.

Taehyung’s gaze didn’t flicker. “Pretty. Romantic, even.”

“You think killing someone’s romantic?”

Taehyung’s eyes darkened, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “Only when they deserve it.”

Something twisted inside Jungkook’s chest. Lust, maybe. Or fear. The line between them was fraying fast.

“You always this calm around murder?”

Taehyung leaned in, voice a breath against his ear. “Maybe it’s not the murder that excites me, detective.”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched on the cup. His gun felt heavy beneath his coat. His blood, heavier.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said lowly.

Taehyung’s lips brushed the rim of his own cup. “Good. I’m tired of playing it alone.”

...----------------...

Characters

For the ghost in the mirror.

The one I tried to chase, cage, kill, and kiss.

You taught me that love isn’t red like roses.

It’s red like blood.

And I’d bleed again if it meant finding you in the dark.

—JJK

...

...

For the boy who broke first.

I watched you long before you saw me.

You were beautiful in ruin—

all cracked edges and trembling hands,

just waiting to be claimed.

You never had a choice.

You were always mine.

—KTH

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