BLACK SWAN||PJM||

𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇

∙・•・•∙・•✿•・∙•・•・∙

𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐀

My feet were rooted to the ground and everything I could do was stare at him, bewildered and anxious by the rude man suddenly standing in front of me. Confused thoughts were swirling through my head, jumbling and tangling into mush, my mind on alert as endless questions were forming in my head that still hurt from when he had pushed me against the wall earlier that day.

How had he found me? Did he follow me? Was he here to harm me in his excessive and incomprehensible anger for ruining his shirt?

And lastly, how could a person's whole behavior switch that remarkably and quickly from being a polite, sweet, and respectful man over the phone call to now menacingly staring me down, a dangerous smirk on his lips while his glare was piercing right through me?

Dreading the man's unpredictable actions, I just wanted to escape his threatening presence, so I stepped back to seek refuge in the safety of my home. With a swift movement, I attempted to slam the door in fear that he would try to hurt me but my actions quickly came to an abrupt stop when the door I had wanted to push shut uselessly bounced off his foot that he had placed in the doorway, rendering my try to escape completely useless. His spiteful smirk even widened at the desperation in my eyes as he leaned down to me, his breath fanning uncomfortably close over my face, and in my panic, my whole body froze, unable to move, even though my mind screamed at me to run. The darkness in his eyes swallowed me up into an ice-cold place, void of any love, and when he opened his mouth, his head tilted in a way that expressed his sardonic amusement over the situation.

"We meet again, Moon Eunha," he stated darkly, voice dangerously low. "What a lucky coincidence that the place I wanted to rent is owned by the very person I was searching for."

I shivered due to the coldness in his voice, goosebumps erupting on my skin before eventually realizing what he had said, my eyes growing wide in terror. He still wanted to rent the second floor? As my tenant, he surely would try to make my life to living hell! (Admittedly, it was one already, but that didn't mean that it couldn't get much worse.)

Definitely not approving of his intention, I tried closing the door again but once again got stopped by his sneaky foot that the jerk was still sticking into the house, blocking the door in the process. With a mocking grin, he pushed the wooden door open, seemingly without any struggle to create a gap big enough that he could slip into the house without me being able to hinder him.

Inside, on the doormat where I usually put on my shoes, he then stood still, his suitcase next to him, face twisted into an unsettling expression of malicious victory. He looked around, his gaze wandering over the interior, the old shabby furniture that I had been growing up with since I was a child, all of the dents and stains familiar to me with a story behind every one of them, eyes moving towards the pictures arranged on the mantelpiece, cherished moments of my mother and me care-freely smiling into the camera, our cheeks smushed together to fit into the frame. The stranger looking at and taking in everything, countless treasured memories made during my whole childhood and teenage years, was something that set me on edge, making me feel vulnerable and helpless. He wasn't supposed to be in here, to let his gaze roam around as if my cherished carefree infancy was something a rude, nameless stranger was allowed to see and intrude, so I quickly raised my voice to speak, hoping to distract him.