[Wattpad @fanfic featured story under K-Pop & J-Pop: Asian Waves reading list since August 2022]
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"Do you believe in guardian angels, Seokjin?"
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"It's like...
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I dedicate this story to DivaSnowChickadee. I hope you enjoy what's coming to you!
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He stared at his black phone on top of his wooden desk, his fingers were brushing against one another as if having a meeting. It had been fifteen minutes since he spoke to the other guy, as each second after slowly descended him into anxiety. His room was dim with only the moonlight shining above him from behind, casting a shadow longer than his own head.
He rested his slender figure on his chair made of navy leather, placing his hands on top of its arms as suddenly, the battle between his fingers wasn’t so interesting anymore. He shut his eyes and breathed out. “No… they won’t fail… never… no chance of failure…” His low, raspy voice echoed inside his head.
In a world where an abstract scenario could be scarier than something tangible, more often than not, he always found himself being driven to the edge of his sanity. “But what if… what if they do?” this time, he whispered, "What if that stupid guy made a mistake? What if… what if this would be the end of me?!”
His phone rang. In less than a second, he grabbed it off the table as he stood up. His heart thumped, the rush of blood flow felt like an unseen river inside his body. If it wasn’t for the advanced technology of air conditioning, he would have cried himself a river of perspiration. “Please tell me you’d taken care of her.”
The other side of the line breathed, which sounded like someone was making a ball out of plastic with his hands. “Yes, indeed, Sir,” he confirmed, his voice was as monotonic as a translating machine. “You’re having another attack? We’re talking about a homeless twelve-year-old, Sir, in case you’ve forgotten. There’s no need for worrying.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, one of the longest and loudest, before his lips curled its way into a sly grin. “Hahaha! Ha… ha… haha… hahaha!” he proceeded to laugh, then he spent a good minute worth of pure joy, banging his desk with one hand. A laugh was supposed to brighten a room, but he just made everything around him darker. “Make sure you leave no trace. Not one. If something happens…” He paused, “You’re going to end up like that useless bitch.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” he replied in boredom like the threat was something a man would say if he met his friend. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No. Now get lost.” He hung up.
He stared at his room, the silent witness to things he had done. Had God made it alive, it would have cried and begged him to move out and be vile somewhere else. His room was laced with gold, decorated with silk, and garnished with velvet. A room to kill for, that might as well be the whole house.
He smirked. Who was he kidding? A twelve-year-old nobody would never stand a chance.
As he walked to his bathroom with his copper-colored satin night robe sweeping his clean marble floor, he hummed. The scent of sandalwood from his washed body soothes his mind, sitting well with his perception of life where he basically owned it. He wondered how immortality tasted like. It would be his ultimate goal. To have all he wanted, do everything as he pleased, forever, and ever…
