Chapter 5

Jungkook woke up to the strange sound of something scraping—not skin, but porcelain. It was slow and scratchy, like someone carving into a plate.

On the floor, Taehyung sat cross-legged. He was completely naked, the morning sunlight making his skin glow pale. The only thing he held was a silver knife. He was carving strange patterns into one of Jungkook’s chipped dinner plates. The way he moved was calm, like it was a ritual he’d done many times before.

Jungkook pushed himself up on one elbow, letting the blanket fall down to his waist. “Is that really necessary?” he asked.

Without looking up, Taehyung replied, “It was chipped. I’m making it mine.”

The plate was now covered in spirals and symbols. The white powder from the carving dusted the wooden floor, looking almost like ash. Jungkook couldn’t help but think it looked like bone dust—but he didn’t ask.

“You’re bored,” Jungkook said.

“I’m waiting,” Taehyung replied.

“For what?”

Taehyung looked up, his voice calm and soft. “For you to snap.”

Later that day, Jungkook visited a crime scene. But this time, he didn’t tell anyone. No police report. No official record. Just an anonymous message and his own curiosity. The apartment smelled bad—old blood, something sweet and rotten.

There was a man on the floor, probably in his late thirties. His throat had been cut, and red string was tied tightly around both wrists.

On the wall, written in what looked like blood, were the words: Confession is consent.

Then Jungkook saw it: taped to a dusty mirror was a Polaroid photo of himself—sleeping. In his own bed.

His stomach twisted. This wasn’t just about murder. It was personal now.

When Jungkook got home, Taehyung was shirtless, covered in red paint—or maybe blood. He was painting. The image on the canvas was Jungkook: naked, kneeling, with red thread sewn into the skin of his back like stitches.

Jungkook stared. Anger flared in his chest.

“Is this a threat?”

Taehyung didn’t look up. “It’s a prophecy.”

“You killed that man.”

“I freed him.”

Jungkook stormed forward and grabbed Taehyung by the throat, shoving him hard into the wall. Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was more violent than loving. It was rough and messy. There was blood.

Taehyung bit Jungkook’s lip until it bled. “You could arrest me,” he whispered.

“I’d rather ruin you.”

They didn’t make it to the bed.

Jungkook ripped Taehyung’s pants open. He didn’t want slow or soft—he wanted control. Taehyung laughed, tipping his head back, as Jungkook dropped to his knees and bit into his skin.

Blood oozed slowly from the bite. Jungkook licked it up. “You bleed for me,” he whispered. “Good.”

Taehyung’s hands clawed at Jungkook’s back, pulling him up. They fell together onto the messy floor, kissing and grabbing, rough and greedy.

Jungkook held Taehyung down, leaving bite marks and bruises along his chest and neck. He grabbed a paintbrush nearby and dragged it over Taehyung’s skin, painting red streaks like writing.

“Mark me,” Taehyung begged.

Jungkook didn’t hold back. He used his nails and his belt, leaving marks that would last. Then he picked up the same knife Taehyung had used earlier. With a careful, slow movement, he made a small cut across Taehyung’s ribs.

Taehyung moaned, breathless.

“You’re mine,” Jungkook growled.

“Take me,” Taehyung gasped. “Break me.”

Jungkook flipped him over and grabbed the red thread still tied to his wrist, using it to pull him closer. When he entered him, it was hard and fast. There was no mercy—only need.

Taehyung arched his back and cried out. Every thrust was deep and rough. Sweat dripped onto the floor, mixing with the paint and blood.

Taehyung came first, shaking. Jungkook followed with a low groan, biting his shoulder as he came.

They stayed on the floor afterward, breathing heavily.

“You’re going to destroy me,” Jungkook said.

Taehyung smiled and curled into his chest. “You were already broken. I just helped you see it.”

Jungkook looked over at the painting again. It was wild, bloody, and haunting. But it felt true.

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