❛In a crazy world in which Taehyung
wants to find who killed his brother.❜
«―Taehyung becomes nearly obsessed with
the idea of finding his brother's killer.
While everyone th...
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COMEBACK.-
THE GREY DIMMED LIGHTS, were weakly illuminating the huge white and nearly empty room, the soundproof thick walls were preventing any sounds as loud as they may be to surpass the chamber. Everything was freshly cleaned, the scent of bleach was still a faintly present although an uncomfortable smell of blood mixed with other fluids was itching the grey haired man's nostrils savagely―a smell that Namjoon was already very habituated to, but that he still couldn't support. He kept his eyes closed for a second, just taking the moment to realize what was happening, adrenaline was rushing through his veins, his breaths were coming in thick puffs―he was panting, quite loudly on top of that. He smiled lightly. He wasn't making any sounds (except maybe his loud breathings), nor was he moving. He was just listening, listening to the man's screams of pain. He loved it. He felt his heart thumping violently in his chest, his blood boiling and his desire growing as the time passed, he was feeling alive. He was into it.
Way too deep actually.
He knew what he was about to do―cut the poor being slowly and surely him with his sharp, big, heavy and metallic blades; his crimson scissors (his favorite, to be honest). He already had them in his right hand.
He usually didn't use his special blades for someone as irrelevant as this man right there - but it had been quite a while ever since he had last made anyone suffer, so he told himself that only for this time—he'd give someone the honor of feeling Stella (the scissors) slicing their skin.
He wasn't shaking the slightest, he stopped long ago. He felt at ease, soothed, calmed ; in his place. The violent tornado of emotion was overwhelming him, making him feel a bit dizzy; the trigger and the excitation were taking over him, twisting his head upside down, transforming him into another man, like always and it was one of the only times where he actually allowed himself let it go and just empty his mind―to fill it again with desire, more, more and even more. It was like the more he would relax, hear the whimpers of the man, let the cupidity, voracity and eagerness flow in his veins, in overall ; be himself the bigger it'll grow―the crave making him even more hungry and bloodthirsty. He felt powerful. The faces scrunched with scare, the tears, the fear in the eyes, he loved seeing that, he would never be able to stop. It was like seeing people pushed to the limit very limit of the pain they could bear, of their body and of their mind made Namjoon feel something. He was living, again, breathing. That was his way of feeling alive. It was his art, his art that not many people could understand, whilst he didn't understand anything about painting, he understood everything in torturing.
