He woke up

Jungkook sat cross-legged on the floor, his posture relaxed yet contemplative. With one foot tucked neatly beneath the other, he let his fingertips glide softly along the gleaming edge of the knife's blade, feeling the cool, smooth metal against his skin. The dim light in the room caught the blade, casting subtle reflections that danced in the air, mirroring the swirl of thoughts in his mind.

"Jungkook... "

Jin breathed out as his body was laying there, blood dripping out of his wounds. He was stabbed in the stomach three times, minutes ago. He was bleeding to death and Jungkook didn't give a fuck.

In that tense moment, Jungkook completely disregarded Jin's desperate cries and pleas for mercy. The air was thick with anguish as Jin's voice trembled in the shadows, but Jungkook remained unmoved, his expression cold and impenetrable. He stood up slowly, as if savoring the weight of the situation, and deliberately wiped the bloodied knife on Jin's shirt, the fabric quickly soaking up the crimson evidence of their confrontation.

With a cold indifference, he abandoned Jin, leaving him writhing in pain and engulfed in a suffocating agony that echoed in the silence. Not once did he cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder, as if Jin's suffering meant nothing to him.

***

Flashback 6 years ago.

"Here. I'm leaving this knife with you. I know just how much you despise your mother," Jungkook's father slurred, his voice thick with alcohol as he tossed the blade onto the small table beside the bed. The words hung heavy in the air, a sinister invitation wrapped in the hazy fog of drunken indifference. "Just finish her off, and that stupid little girl too; then it will just be us," he added, his laughter mixing with the distant echoes of a wretched family dynamic before he stumbled out of the room, leaving Jungkook feeling exposed and vulnerable on the bed.

Jungkook's gaze fixated on the knife lying on the table, its metallic surface catching the dim light in a way that made it glimmer, almost as if it were calling to him. It was tantalizingly close to his right hand, just an inch away—a small movement could bridge that gap. But his vision was blurred, clouded by an overwhelming haze that made thinking straight impossible. The world around him spun in a chaotic whirl, disorienting and suffocating.

Yet those unbearable feelings invaded his heart again.

Pain.

Frustration.

Hate.

Anger.

More after he heard his mother laughing downstairs.

He hated everyone.

He hated his fate.

He wanted to inflict on others the same deep wounds they had carved into his heart. The one wrestling with these harrowing emotions was Jungkook—the true Jungkook. He stood there one last time, trapped in a whirlwind of anguish before escaping the reality that suffocated him. But this flight was different; it would be for good.

The weight of his feelings was suffocating, too overwhelming to confront all at once. Each memory, each flash of pain coalesced into an inescapable darkness that consumed him. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he shut his eyes tightly, deciding to flee into the abyss of his own mind.

***

Jin understood. Jin had seen the torment reflected in Jungkook's eyes.

Disturbed by the sight of his pain, Jin felt an insatiable need to rescue Jungkook from the depths of despair.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into that forsaken house, moving quietly through the dimly lit corridors until he found himself in Jungkook's bedroom. The air was thick with unshed tears and unspoken words. With an urgency born from love and desperation, Jin approached Jungkook, who was lost in his own anguish, a knife clutched tightly in his hand. He gently pried the blade from Jungkook's fingers, his heart racing with both fear and determination.

Once the knife was in his own grasp, Jin took a moment to steady his swirling thoughts. He could hear the chaos that continuously played out in Jungkook's life, and he felt the echo of their shared memories that had turned bitter. Carefully, he left the room, intent on confronting Jungkook's demons by burning the pain that lingered within their lives.

In his determination, Jin found a way to confront Jungkook's family and make them pay for their part in the boy's suffering, turning their pain into ash before returning to place the knife in Jungkook,s hand.

This way trapping him. This way forcing Jungkook to come to him and accept his help.

But this no one knew.

And it was something Jin took with him in hell.

***

You were restless, a sense of unease wrapping around you like a thick fog. The stillness of the night danced in the air, and the silence felt heavier than usual. You woke up suddenly, disoriented, and realized that Jungkook was not beside you, his familiar warmth absent from the bed.

Unbeknownst to you, while you slept peacefully, Jin had quietly approached your door, a worried expression on his face. What you didn't witness was the moment Jungkook stirred awake, groggily opening the door to face Jin. They exchanged a few hushed words before leaving your sanctuary together, leaving you completely unaware of the events unfolding just beyond your room.

Jungkook stepped into the dim light of your bedroom, and an odd sense of calm enveloped him. It felt surreal; his breathing was steady, almost serene, his heartbeat quiet beneath the weight of his thoughts. It was as if a part of him had detached from the chaos that once ruled his life. But then his gaze settled on you, and the tranquility shattered.

In that instant, you noticed something unsettling in his expression. This was not the bad boy you once knew, or the rebellious playboy who flirted with danger. This was someone entirely different.

"Hello, Y/N," he said, his voice low and steady as he took a deliberate step towards you.

He was the boy who had fled from the challenges of that fateful night. The man before you was a figure molded by years of pain and hardship, a soul who had retreated into shadows, choosing to hide rather than confront the harsh realities that awaited.

But now, after six long years of self-imposed exile, he had awakened. A fire burned deep within, a thirst that transcended mere desire—revenge.

He was consumed by a relentless need to punish those who had turned a blind eye to his suffering. The moments of silence from family, the indifference from the orphanage that had raised him, the dismissive attitudes from the police—all of it fanned the flames of his rage.

He envisioned a reckoning, a moment when he would unleash everything he harbored inside, making them feel the anguish he had lived with day after day. He wanted them to know what it felt like to suffer, to be ignored when every cry for help was met with silence. And he will do that. He will kill everyone.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, your breath caught in your throat when you noticed a dark crimson streak marring the skin of his right cheek. The more you focused, the more details came into sharp relief—the way the blood glistened under the soft light, contrasting against his pale complexion. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest, quickening with anxiety as he approached. Each step he took seemed to stretch into eternity, and when he finally paused beside the bed, you felt a mixture of concern and apprehension wash over you. You looked up into his eyes, searching for answers, feeling as if time had momentarily frozen in that tense moment.