dulcaet

[dulcaet]

l’amour fou | jungkook (m)

synopsis. a job in the renowned psychiatric hospital of seoul was something iris had always dreamed of. however, the woman did not know that, between these walls, she would meet someone who found in her professional and innocent gestures something deeper, crazier.

pairing. serial-killer!jungkook | original character + psychiatrist!seokjin | original character genre. serial killer au, angst, smut, thriller word count. 45k, reading on mobile may be difficult. warnings. ❗️please read those carefully❗️

major character death, graphic depictions of violence and murders → stabbing, asphyxia, blood. disturbing thoughts, and content in general. abuse on a child, mentally unstable patients. obsessive behavior also known as yandere. sexual intercourses → vanilla sex, foreplay, rough sex, dom/sub dynamic, biting, worshipping, penetration, choking, blind-folding, blood kink...

→ this story is heavy because of the subjects it deals with. if dark topics have the tendency to trigger you in any way, don’t read the book. i do not condone unhealthy behavior in any way, shape or form nor am i trying to romanticize obsession. if you find any resemblance to your own situation, please, seek help immediately. 

하나.

A man no one knew often took the form of a sordid Madeleine de Proust in the mind of inhabitants; the reminder of a Victorian London, terrorized by Jack the Ripper.

From the "man with the blades", a nickname that resonated like a disturbing music in the thoughts of all Seoulites, we knew only the type of victims and his modus operandi...

Women. All women stabbed savagely and left dead in bloodbaths that stained the concrete of the dark alleys. The red color never really went away. This natural ink, carmine, which allowed us to live, remained engraved in stone, almost as if it was trying to remind everyone that a serial killer was roaming the city.

Some evenings, when the moon and stars would hide behind dark and rumbling clouds, the most sensitive ears would hear in the distance a body falling into a thud; its organs scattered around, like a morbid offering made to a God whose values no one knew about and seemed to have been carved by the Devil himself.

Tonight was no exception.

The hands of the watch that enveloped his wrist and punctuated his whole being with a regular noise, similar to a metronome, carried on its minutes and hours the weight of death. The larger of the two indicated a double-digit number, a simple schedule that meant for many the time to close their eyes and let a day give way to the next one.

Tonight, someone would close their eyes, forever.

He would make sure of that.

Ten o'clock, the moon, queen of the night, protector of the wandering souls of dreams reflected a cold light on buildings of various sizes, flashing the earth by mirror effect. No life on this celestial body and yet, an energy circulated and enveloped the city and its inhabitants with its soothing, reassuring aura…  It gave everyone a sense of security, sometimes wrongly.

In the vast blackness of this sky, a few isolated stars could not impose their presence, making the landscape sad, deserted, macabre.

All the lamps were off, except for the few car headlights or streetlights illuminating the roadway… The rest remained plunged into total darkness, having long abandoned the battle against sleep.

His eyes had been long, longer than he could remember, accustomed to the darkness. Only the light of the moon lit his way, like a guide in this dark and shapeless mass that was the street, and his heart.

His mind was filled with dreams: other forms, other visions, other emotions, other fantasies. All more outrageous, dangerous, than the other. Spectacles in black and white whose only other visible color seemed red.

In front of him, the silence of the night was spread in a black and white setting. A grandiose show... As far as the eye could see, houses and shops with colorful storefronts, small parks with dazzling flowers and trees, discreet touches of green in this monotonous décor, of shadow and light.

In the distance, a halo of mist caressed the grey and dirty walls of an alley where only danger could flourish. The city seemed to be completely immobile. No cars, no passers-by.

No one to bother him.

Time settled gently in a sense of eternity. Even the hands of his watch seemed frozen, trapped by a supernatural force, perhaps that of fate. The coolness of the night gradually enveloped him, but he did not feel the gusts of wind brushing his spine, his mind focused on something.

Someone.

In the apparent stillness, the second in which this thought insinuated itself into his black-tinted mind, slowly changes occurred, invisible to the viewer's eye.

The previously bright moon was extinguished by dark clouds, which seemed to have brought with them rain and misfortune. The stars hid, frightened, as if they knew what would happen in a few minutes. The celestial bodies watching over Seoul were used to seeing this man roaming the streets, looking for women.

His future victims.  

The mist was swelling. A true ally, it reached the whole neighborhood, obstructing the view of any passerby curious to see what the night could offer to the brave, carefree, wandering souls of these late hours. Gradually, it slid, bypassed the building, wrapping it in its thick cloak, following in the footsteps of this man whose face was hidden by his hair.

It had been several minutes now that his path was in harmony with that of the woman, joyful after the end of a gruelling day of hard work, which walked in front of him, only a few meters away.

He had followed this pretty girl with a skin as smooth as velvet, perfect to be painted blue and red, as he followed each of his victims.

Her black stilettos punctuated her walk, keeping up with the sounds of the watch on the man's wrist.

Click. Clack.

Tic. Tac.

A cry muffled by one hand.

A woman dragged to the nearest dead end.

The mist closed in on them, sealing the sad fate of this.

The first attack struck.

A simple moment, caught in the wind, in the heart of the city of Seoul which was overflowing with secrets.

Each street was an invitation to curiosity. The lights of the street lamps reflected the night on the shop windows. All had a singular charm, depending on their location. In the heart of the Gangnam district, where the painters installed in the parks would reproduce the view available to them, the Korean charm was ubiquitous. The flowers climbed on the colorful buildings lined up in the alleys.

Many couples were walking there, holding hands, laughing with candor, indelible smiles inked on their faces reflecting the rays of the sun. The restaurants lined the sidewalks, their names, which sometimes lacked originality, attracted foreigners who would rush to enjoy a traditional meal, often a barbecue.

Stuck between an old book vendor and a small theater, Café Ukiyo was not a known place. Its storefront went unnoticed; a simple brick house decorated by the few plants that had established their reign a long time ago. The rustic appearance of the establishment contrasted with the decorations and terraces with modern furniture.

The interior did not lose its identity, the wooden tables were each covered with a bouquet of Japanese flowers. Gloriosas. Their bright red color would directly catch the eye of anyone entering this place where the atmosphere was warm. When a few customers would appear, like a miracle, the laughter and noisy conversations would punctuate the main hall, that was today, like the previous days, empty. Few people took the trouble to walk the floor of this cafe, let alone enjoy a drink. The Japanese influences that were felt in the interior design were not enough to attract customers. Nothing was enough to attract the customers, not even the pretty waitress perched on her stool, behind the counter.

The attention of this young woman was not directed towards the cafe. It had been several months since she was hired, she knew the unusual attendance of the place. Thus, to counter her sworn enemy, boredom, her eyes remained fixed on a notebook. It was not huge, could easily fit in the palm of her hand, and seemed worn out; the horny edges were the proof of this observation. On one of the pages, with a pencil, she almost mechanically realized the portrait of a woman she had met a few hours earlier on the subway while whispering the lyrics of a song stuck in her skull for about ten minutes. The sleeves of her white sweater, almost as much as her skin, were rolled up revealing her thin wrists, as well as her slightly muscular arms. They were covered with several tattoos, transforming her skin in an unfinished masterpiece.

Her eyes swept the dozen empty tables. She sighed. Although she enjoyed the soothing calm of this place, spending hours revising and drawing was not the reason for her presence here. The hours passed slowly here as if it was a room in which everything stopped: worries, time, negative thoughts.

The clock’s hand indicated eighteen hours and, unsurprisingly, the door opened.

“Chihiro!”

Hearing her name, the girl’s mouth, whose lips had a few cracks, was quickly decorated with a smile.

Bent over, stopped at the door, her hands on her knees, Nari was desperately trying to catch her breath. Her clothes were wrinkled as a result of her day at university and the run to the workplace. She was her colleague, a slender student with dyed blond hair, who worked the night-shift while the brunette worked all day long.

The two women discussed for a few moments, telling each other about their day, not fruitful for Chihiro, exhausting for Nari. The first one finally decided to take off, wanting nothing more than entering the warmth of her apartment located a few quarters away from the cafe.

“I’ll leave you to it, the keys are in the cash register.”

A sign of a hand, a closed door. While the sky was tinged with an orange color, revealing the well-deserved future rest of the sun, the woman began her journey; the sound of her resonant heels giving rhythm to her steps. It was another day wasted doing nothing. She had no right to complain because, even if the boredom was felt during each second of her working days, the latter was what could allow her to pay her rent.

The passersby watching Chihiro could only think that the woman they saw before their eyes was intelligent. It was sufficient to cross her dark eyes; they would see in them a great maturity and ambition. Some imagined her at the head of a law firm or the director of a hospital or even in the office of a reputed journalist.

That night, however, she made the most stupid mistake of her life.

Whines held her attention as she passed a dark alley. Chihiro frowned, quickly turning her gaze towards the direction of this odd sound. Knowing how to recognize intonations because she had herself pronounce them, it was obvious that this woman was not enjoying herself. On the contrary, the moans were plaintive. Rummaging in her bag hurriedly, the Japanese took out her phone that she unlocked to access a specific app.

Without hesitation, the little icon in the shape of a flashlight was clicked with a trembling finger.

After taking a deep breath, her hand firmly tied to her bag’s shoulder strap, the waitress ventured into the dark street. She could hear nothing but the sound of her heels tapping against the concrete floor and the whines that seemed to get louder and louder.

That did not reassure her. At all.

The further she went, the more the walls seemed to close on her, making her heart beat faster.

Waste littered the ground, her foot collided with a can that was sent flying deeper into the alley.

The object bounced several times, the sound of metal resonating against the stones of the walls clear.

The cries stopped. A male growl rang out.

Not wanting to leave one woman in this horrible situation when she could do something, the brunette began to run to the source of the noise.

What a stupid idea.

“Hey! Stop right n—” These words, which she had uttered in the adrenaline rush, were stifled by her scream.

Despite the seriousness of these types of aggression, they were the misery’s cause of millions of women in the world, Chihiro would have preferred to face a woman being raped rather than that. At least, faced with a situation like the one she had imagined, it would have been possible for her to do something, to push the man. Here, the woman watched helplessly as the scene seemed to occur in slow-motion down.

A macabre smile, which reigned supreme over his face without him even knowing it, darkened the expression of the man until only his eyes seemed alive. The reflection of the moon yet full that evening did not color his skin. The latter was nothing but a canvas made of white, without imperfection, so that anyone would have been mesmerized by the perfection of his features. He was handsome, and this weapon could attract any prey into his den. Only, the few brushstrokes of a painter came to color his eyes with a particular madness. He appeared crazy and seemed to revel in this destructive madness, as dangerous for him as for the others.

He looked like a ghost, but less than the girl lying beneath him.

Her eyes wide open, her mouth in a gape, her hands full of blood, she instinctively tried to protect her stomach. Impossible. She knew it very well, but that stupid dose of adrenaline allowed her for a while to avoid feeling the pain. This nameless woman, he did not care about her fucking name, did not know it but already, the soul had begun to separate from the body. The skin of the victim was white, a pure white, a white so beautiful it must have been an extract from the palette of the most talented painter. This picture was tainted by the task at her abdomen. The red sea had invaded, like a tsunami, the cobblestones of the dark alley in which they were.

His gestures were almost mechanical, like those of a robot.

Remove. Stab. Remove. Stab.

The cries of his victim, he could not hear them anymore. Over time, his brain had defined these noises as useless nuisances and had reduced them to nothing. But he discerned the sound of choppy breathing, the sound of a person in tears. Gently, that same disturbing smile traced with an indelible pen was addressed to Chihiro who remained motionless.

She wanted to run, to shout, to call the police but her legs seemed to be planted on the ground.

“Dreadful bitch...” He whispered between his clenched teeth.

The man got up nonchalantly, even taking the time to dust off his clothes tinged with bloodstains.

A step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

It was enough for him to reach Chihiro who was still unmoving, shaking irises watching him, a contrast with the dilated ones of the man. He found happiness in murders, happiness so strong that physical reactions manifested themselves. His gloved fingers trapped the Japanese’s jaw, which he squeezed with such force that the woman wondered how he had managed not to break it.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to mind your own fucking business?”

He stroked her livid skin with his thumb before he lowered his hand, covering the soft skin of the girl’s neck. Soon his joints became white because of the effort. He ignored the scratches on his wrist, these miserable attempts to defend herself. His eyes watched with delight the red color slowly taking on the face of his second victim. He watched the woman’s eyes come out of their sockets, just like her tongue.

Suddenly, the weight of the woman redoubled, her muscles relaxed.

She was dead.

He dropped her like a vulgar rag doll who had been cut off from its guiding threads. In a sense, this comparison had a part of the truth. Her parents had been Clotho and Lachesis, working their spinning which was completed at the time of the birth of this woman and continued for many years. He, like the reincarnation of the third of the Moirai, Atropos “The Inevitable”, had cut the thread of this life abruptly, replacing the pair of scissors by his hand. She had arrived at the wrong time and had not reacted quickly enough, like most of his victims.

The man glanced at the elongated body, before squatting, stroking the almost black marks on her neck. The trace of his hand was perfectly visible as if it was a tattoo. She was ethereal like this, much more than when her pretty skin had been intact. If she had not been here, meddling in things that were none of her business, he would have not taken his precious time to kill her. She did not seem worthy enough.

Although delighted by the show, the man was not crazy enough to leave the scene as such. His gaze remained for several seconds on the marks, as if hypnotized by the beauty offered to him, even going so far as to want to kiss them. Straightening up, his fingers dipped into the pocket of his leather jacket, took out a cell phone that seemed to belong to the previous generation. He dialed a number and then, with a trembling voice and a higher pitch than usual, he spoke:

“Yes? police? I would like to report a... to report a murder. Oh my god, it’s horrible! Two poor girls! Cowardly killed! Yes? It’s in the alley near Café Ukiyo. Thank you.”

Without more ceremony, the man hung up and without a look behind him, left the street, hands in pockets. The buildings paraded, all similar but different, with many colorful signs of shops. These few neons gave soul to these worthless concrete blocks, dreary. The red-light forms were the ones he preferred.

Anyone who crossed his path would have believed in the good faith of this man who just seemed to have been longing for a perfectly innocent night walk. They did not know that under the mask of a rebellious young adult was hiding a real monster. They did not know that this man was the one they had been miserably trying to track for more than three years now. They did not know that an hour earlier, his hands had taken the lives of two innocent women crossing his path.

They did not know that they were all potential victims capable of quenching his thirst for blood.

While some saw life through rose-tinted glasses, his were colored in a red hue.

The next day, all of them could read in one of the most famous newspapers in the country these few lines.

Sept. 9, 2017, 8:12

Two women found dead in the heart of Seoul.

The facts - if confirmed - will once again extend the list of dozens of homicides committed by the hand of “The man with the blades” already listed since the beginning of the year.

Yesterday, two women were found dead in the same dark alley in the heart of the capital: Kim Sulga and Kurokawa Chihiro. The first, 27, was stabbed 56 times and left dead against a wall. The second was a 23-year-old Japanese woman who had been living in Seoul for several years and found strangled.

The medical examiner dispatched to the scene confirmed death by strangulation and stabbing. He records that no sign of rape has been found.

The Seoul Police Services Brigade is in charge of the investigations. The Research Section has been notified.

Is this still a shot of the famous serial killer? The DNA analysis will soon answer this question that many Korean people ask themselves.

둘. 

A simple object, believed to be tiny and harmless, can change everything, for good or evil.

The man hidden under his black hood knew this perfectly.

Never leave anything behind the scene of the crime, said the rule number one.

Since his childhood, he had placed meticulous importance on cleanliness. This addiction, this obsessive-compulsive disorder appeared as a blessing in a period of his life where it was sorely needed.

He enjoyed waxing the floors, washing the windows, cleaning every drop of blood, bathing clothes in acid; mundane activities, according to him, so mundane that it was not uncommon to see him whistling while holding a cloth soaked in fresh blood between his fingers. Sometimes he would even smile when he thought of the pleas, the cries, the screams.

His victim that night, the one to whom her life had been violently and unjustly taken away, had been one of his finest catches.

The girl was full of grace because, to create her, Mother Nature had put all her care, sculpting this creature with her delicate hands and giving her as a gift an almost supernatural beauty. She herself had more than a thousand times marveled at having been able to achieve such a beautiful thing.

Her forehead and face were brighter and whiter than the lily flower that hatched on a spring morning. And this whiteness was wonderfully contrasted with a fresh vermilion color that Nature had given her, illuminating her figure. The eyes sent such a light that they looked like two stars. God never knew how to make the nose, the mouth or the eyes better than hers. She had been created to be admired.

Beautiful yet so naïve, enamored by an angel's face hiding the devil's soul. Like all those before her, she had let herself be charmed, sent to a mental sleep, by the poetic words of the one whose name remained a mystery.

Two minutes later a knife was rearranging her organs.

A tragic but usual death in a Seoul that has been the home of a serial killer for years.

A death that would change everything, thanks to a defense mechanism, the desire to fight to stay alive. A death that would count in Korean history. A vengeful death for these abandoned women, just like her, in dark alleys, left for dead, without their families ever being able to find justice.

It took nothing more than a lock of hair left on the floor of an alley in the Korean capital.

A simple lock of hair ripped from her aggressor’s head by a hand now resting lifeless in a body bag.

The last hope to which one attaches before, finally, the soul leaves.

It was nothing. Something so insignificant that it was ignored and left behind.

His worst mistake.

You never break rule number one.

Its brown color had melted with the tar stained by the rain and mud of the shoes of the few souls who had passed through it.

Invisible to the naked eye. Not to the lights of the scientific police.  

Unknowingly, "the man with the blades", because of a simple lock of hair, had just signed the end of his morbid career.

Oct. 11, 2019, 10:43

“The man with the blades”, the serial killer who terrorized Seoul, was arrested.

He was one of the most wanted men in South Korea. He mysteriously escaped the authorities for three years. Between 2014 and 2019, he seriously injured dozens of people and killed forty-seven.

Jeon Jungkook, a young man just out of college, was arrested on October 10, 2019, in Seoul, the capital city where he had committed most of his alleged crimes and where he lived peacefully in a beautiful neighborhood, according to the authorities. Called the “terrible ripper” or “the man with the blades” by the media, he was identified through DNA analysis.

“On Tuesday, an arrest warrant was issued against Jeon Jungkook”, Seoul prosecutor, Kim Hojin, said at a press conference. The charges of murder and aggravated wounds were held against him in several cities across the country. “We found the needle in the haystack. And it was hiding in the Gangnam-gu district all along,” he added.

Jeon Jungkook is believed to have committed forty-seven murders and one hundred burglaries between 2014 and 2019, according to federal police. He is now at risk of ending his days in jail. The age of the victims ranged from 11 to 34 years old and were all women. Most of the crimes occurred near Seoul, but some were committed in Incheon and along the coast near Busan, to Jeju Island in Southern Korea.

The suspect would break into his victims’ homes at night, tie them up, then stab them. The first two murders took place in February 2014. “Everyone was scared”, “some slept with a kitchen knife, others bought a dog”, the commissioner in charge of the case, Lee Kiyoung, explains on the federal police’s website.

Jeon Jungkook has been a trainee himself to consider becoming a police officer, but he was fired for shoplifting. “It is possible that he committed these crimes when he was employed as an in-training police officer,” the commissioner told the press conference, adding that the authorities were trying to determine if this was the case or no. “It is time for all Koreans to breathe, (...) to let go of the anxiety they have suffered in recent years” and “to heal,” Kim Seulgi said, her voice trembling. Her sister and sister-in- law were murdered at home in 2016, and “The man with the blades” is suspected of being their murderer.

The commissioner argued that the authorities’ frustration at their inability to find this serial killer and rapist for so long has played a big role in the development of a Seoulian DNA database that now includes “10 million profiles”.

Jeon Jungkook is remanded in custody until he is transferred to the most secure psychiatric hospital in Seoul: SPHSK. The commissioner said it is very likely that the killer will end his days between these barricaded walls. An analysis of his mental disorders will be done and communicated to the authorities.

Absorbed by a documentary on Paris, her eyes focused on the bright screen until the only things you could possibly see were fluorescent lights. It had been several hours now, while the moon was shining in the sky, Iris Poquelin was trying to fight insomnia prowling around her eyelids.

Her sleep was dear to the woman but, oh, was it rare. The full nights she had spent, made of sweet dreams, a haven of peace, could be counted on one hand since the beginning of the month.

And here she was, drooling in front of a stupid documentary about her hometown hoping that Morpheus would welcome her in his arms.

Again.

Paris had been the city in which she had grown. The one she knew all the streets, all the secrets so that redrawing them on a blank sheet would be a breeze. In the room of her modest but elegantly decorated apartment, dressed in pyjamas, she had stumbled upon this program. Curiosity had prevailed against reason, the idea of sleeping quickly forgotten. The woman found it interesting to know how strangers could see the city from which she had an objective vision.

She was not disappointed.

They retained of Paris only the Eiffel Tower and the Louvres, but not the streets with tagged walls, cigarette butts strewing the sidewalks and waste overflowing garbage cans. The obvious glorification of France had snatched some laughter from her. The images of her hometown reminded her of memories that made a smile appear on her face lit by the images parading across.

She remembered ice cream at the grocer’s at night, dead leaves that stained in an orange color the path to school, the fountain of the park that no longer flowed when the white blanket installed itself. She remembered the laughter that rocked the family home, her father’s jokes that only he would found hilarious, movie nights with her parents, all three wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands. She remembered her friends and the fits of laughter they would have every day, the nights they would hang out in the bars even though they were not old enough to drink, boring hours of schooling that were made interesting thanks to their notes.

She remembered the tears streaming down her parents’ cheeks as she informed them of her decision to move to South Korea. She remembered the crying, lamenting, heartfelt “goodbye”. They did not say “Adieu” but the word had sounded in their head, no one daring to say it. She remembered the exhausting plane ride, the arrival in this city she knew without ever having set foot in it.

Small, when the Internet did not reign as the king of entertainment, little Iris spent her rainy afternoons in front of the TV. It was a substitute that allowed her to forget for a while that she was not allowed to go out to avoid getting dirty. The cartoons made her laugh. The television news, too complicated for her childish brain, made her frown. However, of all these channels with varied content, the one she preferred consisted of three figures. 183.

In colorful images, the viewer could travel through the typical but urban panoramas of major Asian cities. Beijing. Tokyo. Bangkok. Jakarta. And the one she preferred: Seoul. The food, the smiling people, the beautiful landscapes. The innocent eye of this little French girl had fallen under the charm of this culture and she had promised herself, with her pinky fingers, that one day she would visit this city that attracted her so much.

It took her about ten years to finally obtain her medical degree. She decided it would be the best opportunity to go there to study the specialty of psychiatry and to maybe start a career here. Many times, if it was not for hundreds, people with whom she had been conversing, even for one night, complimented her listening and good pieces of advice. With these few words in mind, she had set herself the goal of succeeding in her studies to help hundreds of people as she had done for a few relatives.

After years of hard work, it was finally possible to say that her promise had been fulfilled.

There was nothing more satisfying than leaving the university benches. No more huge and sometimes unnecessary workloads. No more socializing with others to avoid being alone during group work. No more sleepless nights to study for exams. Everything was finished. Everything could begin.

This thought was confirmed when a high-pitched sound drew her attention towards her phone.

An email.

Nonchalantly, her fingers trembling because of the lack of sleep, her eyes barely ajar, she clicked on the notification without bothering to look at the title of it.

RE: OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT – Psychiatrist

Dear Ms. Poquelin,

Following our recent discussions, we are delighted to offer you the position of Psychiatrist specialized in criminology. SPHSK is described as the most efficient and secured psychiatric hospital in South Korea. If you join SPHSK, you will become part of a fast-paced and dedicated team that works together to provide our clients with the highest possible level of service and advice.

As a member of the SPHSK team, we would ask for your commitment to deliver outstanding quality and results that exceed client expectations. Besides, we expect your accountability in all the products, actions, advice and results that you provide as a representative of the hospital. In return, we are committed to providing you with every opportunity to learn, grow and stretch to the highest level of your ability and potential.

We are confident you will find this new opportunity both challenging and rewarding. The following points outline the terms and conditions we are proposing.

Title: Psychiatrist specialized in criminology

Job description: See attached

Start date: 10/23/18

Salary: $103,270/year

Hours of work: 40h/week

Following the initial probationary period, a progression and performance review will be conducted on a quarterly basis to assess performance to date, and to clarify or modify this arrangement, as the need may arise.

This arrangement may be terminated by either party upon notice in writing to either party with notice that complies with Employment Standards (or Labour Standards) for Seoul.

We look forward to the opportunity to work with you in an atmosphere that is successful and mutually challenging and rewarding.

Sincerely,

Im Minho - HR director of SPHSK.

Reading quickly the content, she let out a cry of joy, one of a kind we do not want to let someone hears as it sounds that ridiculous. It had been several months since her job application had been sent, Iris was still in school at that time. The hospital seemed to have taken pleasure in prolonging the suspense about their response. Or maybe they had waited for her to graduate. The latter was more likely but less funny in the head of the French girl.

The woman perfectly remembered filling her resume with trembling hands, anxious to take the plunge. Entering the professional world was a complicated step for everyone. It was the realization of several years of studies supervised by competent adults. The end of this meant that you would, one day, have to assume the role of this said competent adult. Something hard to imagine when she knew that she still needed your mother to make a doctor’s appointment and probably always would.

The hospital had seemed to take pleasure in prolonging the suspense about their response. Or maybe they had waited for her to graduate. The latter was more likely but less funny in the girl’s head. It was not necessary to mention that this had been a source of stress, in addition to the dozens of written and oral exams she had to take to validate her last semester.

It was one of her teachers, Mr. Kwon, who suggested that she should try her luck at the largest psychiatric hospital in Seoul. He had said it to her one evening after his class, the young woman still unsure of what she wanted her future to be.

Psychology was not something she was interested in: having a desk and listening to customers lying on a sofa while writing small notes on a cute notebook was not for her. The routine was something she abhorred, and this job seemed to be an allegory of it. While the cases differed between each session, the working methods remained the same. There was nothing new or intellectually enjoyable in this discipline that made you want to surpass yourself.

The opposite could go for psychiatry. This science was about understanding the actions of each, the decisions taken, the functioning of a brain. Every brain was different. A complex vital organ whose researchers did not yet know all the secrets. All minds seemed interesting to analyze but Iris Poquelin was fascinated by the cerebral functioning of a specific type of people: those of criminals.

It was for this particular reason that Mr. Kwon had suggested that she should experience working in a psychiatric hospital.

The man was not very old, he must have been in his thirties. His short hair often fell in front of his hazel eyes. He was not particularly tall, one-meter seventy-five at most. To describe it mentally, the future psychiatrist never needed more than a single word: execrable. The sufficiency emanating from the body of this person was equal only to itself. It was common to see him take a mirror out of his pocket and whisper some flattering words, as he often did under the bored look of his pupil.

So imagine her surprise when this professor, that she did not think was able to express a feeling close to kindness, offered to help her in her job search and even to recommend her to some hospitals. The brown-haired man, despite his young age, was among the best of his generation. A compliment from him opened all the doors.

She had never known what was so special about her, what set her apart from his hundreds of other students, for him to act this way. In any case, to tell the truth, she did not care. The only important thing to remember from the story was that the man kept his promise and got her a job in the mental hospital that many psychiatry students dreamed about. Therefore, out of politeness and especially because she wanted to, the young woman hurried to look in her old papers to find Mr. Kwon’s email address. It took her a while, but eventually, she brandished that damn piece of paper covered with ink as if it was a treasure of inestimable value. Placing her computer in front of her, exiting the tab on which the documentary was continuing to scroll to reveal the one of her inbox, her fingers began to hit the keyboard.

THANK YOU!

Dear Mr. Kwon,

I am writing to you today to express my deepest gratitude for your letter of recommendation. Your comments have enthused the management team at SPHSK and, as a result, I have been employed as a psychiatrist of their criminological division. I sincerely believe that your reference gave me an edge over the other applicants and paved the way for my successful interview. If there is anything I can do to repay the kind words, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Yours faithfully,

Iris Poquelin.

Sustaining her momentum, she took the time to accept the hospital’s proposal. Iris did not care it was now two o'clock in the morning and waiting the next morning would not change anything. She had to answer right away. It was absolutely out of the question that she missed her chance after spending more than eight years trapped in this hellhole called the university.

RE: RE: OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT – Psychiatrist

Dear Mr. Im,

I am writing to confirm my acceptance of your employment offer concerning the Psychologist specialized in criminology position and to tell you how delighted I am to be joining SPHSK in Seoul. The work is exactly what I have prepared to perform and hoped to do. I feel confident that I can make a significant contribution to the corporation and I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me.

As we discussed, I will report to work at 8:00 am on September 13 and will have completed the medical examination and drug testing by the start date. Additionally, I shall complete all employment and insurance forms for the new employee orientation.

I look forward to working with you and your fine team. I appreciate your confidence in me and am very happy to be joining your staff.

Sincerely,

Iris Poquelin.

The woman quickly reviewed the contents of her message to detect if there were any misspellings. Satisfied with finding none, she clicked the send icon and snapped the flip of her computer close. For a whole minute, her body froze, trying to assimilate what had happened. Suddenly, the brunette began to dance in all directions, letting her limbs do as they wanted.

Fortunately, no one saw her.

셋 .

Except for the faint sound of a resonant fan, the room, whose only color seemed to be white, was full of great calm. Silence, reigning as master, drastically changed from the daily din the many employees had to endure.

Only the sound of crumpled papers was interrupting this peaceful atmosphere.

Standing in front of the cupboard, facing the only and embed window — to prevent defenestration — in the room, Dr. Lee was looking for a note which he had come to take. Large open, this huge carved oak cabinet, with strong and beautiful fittings dating from the last century, showed on its boards, in the depth of its flanks, an extraordinary mass of papers.

They were various documents, handwritten sheets, files as big as the Encyclopedia, cut-out newspaper articles, gathered in folders of strong blue paper, each of which bore a name written in large font. Everything was piled up, overflowing, pell-mell.

It had been more than twenty years since the doctor threw all the pages he wrote in it, from short notes to complete and sometimes exhaustive analyzes. Therefore, researching a miserable piece of paper was not always easy. The phrase It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack made perfect sense.

Full of patience, for he was proud to know he had created this amount of knowledge and appreciated letting his hands graze his work, he searched, and he smiled when he finally found his grail. For a moment he remained near the cupboard, reading the note, under a golden ray that fell from the window.

“Here, Ji-ae!” He finally said, “You’ll copy this note. Otherwise, Minho will never decipher my horrible handwriting.”

He gently placed the paper near the girl, her assistant, who was sitting at a desk opposite his. After hearing his colleague’s acquiescence, the man grabbed a folder that had been sitting on his desk for several days. The dust, covering the other piles of papers like a coat seemed absent here, which proved that he had spent several hours studying it in the hope of understanding his new patient. His new nemesis.

Lee Kyunwon paced the corridors of SPHSK, a notebook in his hand, the folder in the other. The immensity of the building, which sometimes made the nurses’ heads spin several times during the day, did not impress him as much as twenty years ago. This labyrinth, however, had left a big impression on him, so much that he could still remember his first thoughts the moment he passed through the hospital’s doors.

“I’ll need a compass.”

The staff at the time were not known for their kindness so young Kyunwon, whose hair was still black at that time, had been lost hundreds of times during his trips separating him from his different patients.

The doctor was a short man, with a big round head, whose beard necklace and hair had turned grey as years passed. His colored face had hardened in his continual life in the open air, always on the march for the relief of some suffering; while his lively eyes, his aquiline nose, his good lips, spoke of his whole existence as a good, charitable man, a little abrupt at times, a doctor without genius, whose long practice had made him an excellent healer.

Did he like his job? By default. He had learned to appreciate it, to cherish it over the years. However, it was out of the question to pronounce the words “profession” and “passion” in the same sentence. His true dream, the one that had made his heart beat so much as a child, would have been to become a surgeon. Save lives. Many dreamed about it, right? He was not an exception. Unfortunately for him, his brain skills, although more developed than average, were not enough to take him so far, forcing him to choose an alternative career.

Sometimes, he thought that he would have preferred to remain an office psychologist rather than a psychiatrist condemned to rub shoulders with the craziest men in the nation. Their brains were unhinged. They were defective. It was impossible, even for the most talented psychiatrist, to predict what they could do. These men acted and depended on their instincts, like animals. The doctors were only preys, locked in a sense of false security until the first claw strike. Like an automatic reflex, he gently rubbed his cheek, barred by a huge gash.

Complicated patients, he had tamed hundreds of them. The files stacked in the archives room could confirm this. Thus, without apprehension, with a determined mind, he unlocked the door of the cell 30-9 and entered.

Squinting his wrinkled eyes, it took him a few seconds to let them get used to the darkness. The cell looked like the other ones situated on floor nine. The floor where murderers were isolated. These people did not deserve to be called by their names. They deserved to languish in a cell without being able to breathe the pure air of nature. They took away the lives of innocent people.

All these rooms had only one access: a door, armored, secured with locks, passwords that even the best locksmiths and hackers could not hook. The items of furniture were simple: a bed, a chest of drawers, a desk and a lamp. All screwed to the floor. They couldn’t take any risk. There was another door, this time in wood, which would lead to a small bathroom with toilet, sink, shower. It was all. It was enough.

“Jeon?” For the first time, he saw him, the one whose newspapers kept talking about. The Man with the blades.

The dark face, weighed down by carrying his sins, was what first attracted the doctor’s attention. The austere air of his hollowed cheeks and his jaw, sharpened as a kitchen knife would have been, was totally ignored. Their eyes met but the oldest diverted his stare. He could not bear looking at someone like this. A psychopath.

Without knowing it, by doing that, Mister Lee had committed his first mistake.

He was tall, a little over twenty centimeters taller than him and looked puny. This didn’t reassure Mr. Lee, who sat down on one side of the desk without bothering to greet his patient.

He did not care how his day went, what he wanted to understand was why. Why would he do such things? His second mistake. Connecting with the patient to feel safe was the first lesson taught to psychology students. Why didn’t the doctor do it? It was simple, actually. The desire to get out of this room as quickly as possible outweighed the professionalism. Busy opening the folder which made a thud when it collided with the office lumber, he did not see his patient’s raised eyebrow. His third mistake. The sheets filled with ink, images, and diagnostics quickly scattered on the brown surface.

The creaking of the feet of a chair dragged against the ground.

A throat clearing.

Lee Kyunwon lifted his head for a moment, noticing with satisfaction that his patient had sat down without having to be forced to do so. Good. Perhaps, everything would be fine, he was worried about nothing. He gave him a fake, almost invisible smile. Forty-five minutes. The mandatory minimum time for each psychiatric session with this category of patients. It was going to be a long time, but the satisfaction of leaving while this monster would remain locked in a cell would only come out greater.

His clenched hand came to lay the pen to the right of a white sheet, the latter ready to contain the various testimonies, judgments, words, uttered during this session. He could feel the killer’s dark eyes following his every move.

He was analyzing him.

Not wanting to lose the upper hand, the old man straightened up, widening his shoulders to look imposing. Over the frame of his rectangular glasses, he looked at his interlocutor, judging him. In a rush to finish with this session, he began to speak.

“I am Lee Kyunwon. Your psychiatrist. We will see each other once a week. Is it clear?” His words were rough, carrying all the hatred that the man felt against that type of person. Once again, the first lesson was totally put aside.

The silence took care of answering him. No noise was heard. The paranoid side of Dr. Lee, a bad thing that had developed over the years spent surrounded by lunatics, surfaced. He began to think that this silence could say more than if his patient had opened his mouth. He was concerned about this lack of commotion of any kind. He even went so far as to wonder if the killer could hear his teeth grinding because of the stress and hatred that had taken hold of his body.

“Jeon?”

Silence.

“I am talking to you!”

Silence. The gnashing of teeth intensified. He was now certain he could hear it because even his own ears could distinguish the irritating sound.

If there was one thing to know about Lee Kyunwon was the fact that many described him as impatient. How ironic, right? An impatient psychiatrist; at this level, you couldn’t make it up.

If there was a second thing to know about Lee Kyunwon was that these rumors well-founded after people witnessing numerous tantrums against his patients. A story of a patient ending up with a pen stuck in his hand, another pushed against a wall, or a child refusing to talk pushed from his chair. Three stories among many that made Dr. Lee even more abominable than all his patients.

“Jeon... Make an effort, we’ll both be out of there quicker.”

Silence.

“It’s not by retreating into a silence that you’ll get out of here, you bastard!”

They stood like this for a long time, face to face, both walled in heavy silence. The older one had no doubt that they could have stayed in that exact position for the remaining twenty-five minutes. He recalled, however, that moving forward on this case was synonymous with getting rid of it. Oh, how much he wanted to get rid of that sick- head... Giving himself an imaginary pat on the shoulder, his hand grabbed the pen again. Adjusting his glasses and thinking about why he was doing this, for the money, the question trotting through his head was finally asked.

“Do you think this behavior is due to your aggression dating back to April 24, 2004?”

An eyebrow raised.

The creaking of the feet of a chair dragged against the ground.

Impossible, normally.

Jeon Jungkook was not normal. That was something people should have known since his nickname was pronounced on national television.

Jeon Jungkook was strong. That was something people should have known when they had discover how he broke the bones of one of his victims.

What were four miserable screws against him? A beast hidden in a human body? Nothing.

Lee Kyunwon should have been more careful.

A lamp colliding with a temple.

A cry of pain.

Another. And another.

Silence.

Sobs caused by pain.

A simple impulse, a keen need to kill, to annihilate.

He had restrained himself, if his impulses had taken over, the heart of this stupid doctor would not be currently beating.

Complicated patients, Lee Kyunwon had tamed hundreds of them. Today, he had failed and, as with the gash on his cheek, his temple would now be decorated with a bruise that would remind him why this job would never become a passion.

In the meantime, on the ground floor, at the end of a corridor near the administration, a woman was pacing back and forth. Panic had invaded her body since she woke up three hours earlier. She could almost feel it going through the bloodstream in her veins to reach her sore brain.

The white wall facing her, the one supporting the door, was adorned with frames filled with diplomas all more impressive than the others. Perhaps it was a consequence of the stress, but the French woman was sure that they were weighing her up and made fun of her pathetic state. Because it was the only appropriate adjective to describe her current state: pathetic. Eyes wide open, dark circles distinct, lower lip lacerated by its twin; all played the role of tell-tale signs.

Iris was stressed.

A blind person could have guessed it because she was breathing faster than normal. A deaf person could have guessed it because she kept triturating her nails and scratching the hollow of her elbow. The hand she kept running through her brown hair was almost red because of the repetition of the gesture.

A glance at her watch. A desire to leave.

A trembling hand coming into contact with the white door on which ‘Im Minho’ was written.

Could someone blame her for her current state? Anyone would behave the same way if they were in her place. Only one door separated her from her dream job. She had been studying tirelessly for over a decade, hoping to one day find herself where her feet were resting on now. One small mistake had the ability to crush her hopes of being a psychiatrist in the most prestigious psychiatric hospital in the country.

A startle took hold of her body when the door opened abruptly.

“Good morning!”

Oh. So... This person was Im Minho? The one she had talked to a few times?

Oh.

Many times, they had been forced to talk over the phone to agree on a satisfactory contract for the employer and the employee. She had found herself falling for the charm of this deep voice and had automatically, as anyone would have, imagined the physical of her interlocutor. Beautiful. Young. Smiley. Strong. What a great disappointment it was to see that he was none of that, except perhaps smiley.

Imagine a bald forehead, bulging, protruding, falling over a small crushed nose, rolled up at the end like the one of Rabelais or Socrates; a laughing, wrinkled mouth, a short chin, proudly raised, hazel eyes dulled in appearance by age, but which by the contrast of the pearly white in which the pupil floated could cast magnetic glances. The face was, moreover, singularly withered by the fatigue of age, and still more by those thoughts which also hollow out the soul and the body. The eyes had no eyelashes, and there were scarcely any marks of eyebrows above their projecting arches.

Put this head on a frail body, throw on the old man’s tartan black sweater a white coat and a gold chain, and you will have a perfect image of this character who had just brought her into his office.

“Uh... Nice to meet you... I’m Iris Poquelin.”

“Iri- Oh yes, the new psychiatrist, right? Come in, come in! Make yourself at home! Sit down!”

The woman held a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be fine. Mr. Im, in spite of his old age and unattractive physique, seemed to be a friendly and attentive person. There would be no problem.

Both settled.

Inspiration. Expiration.

A moment of latency. One minute that raised doubt in Iris. Why wasn’t he talking? Did she do anything wrong? Perhaps he was questioning his own decision about his hiring? So many unanswered questions were brushed aside by the words of the Director of Human Resources.

“Your induction isn’t going to be long. I have reread your CV several times and you have sent me the contract of employment signed in two copies. Everything seems good for me.”

His fingers wandered on the keyboard placed in the corner of his office, filling out a form that was printed in no time. The man’s fingers grazed hers when he handed her the, still hot, paper. She suppressed a shiver of disgust. Taking a look at the contents on the blank sheet, her brain only took a few seconds to understand that what she was holding was her schedule and the list of her patients. The latter was not long and could even be considered short. However, it was enough for Iris. She was just getting started, making her crumble under appointments would have only made her stress worsen. It will take her time to learn how to become a great psychiatrist.

Of course, for ten years, the woman had studied day and night in order to acquire the necessary knowledge to practice. Of course, the different internships had gone perfectly and the people in charge of her had been joyful to cover her with compliments.

Only today, everything was becoming real. No more internships where the only mission was to observe or perform futile tasks such as taking notes. Gone was the comfort of theory. The latter now gave way to practice. A discipline so different and so complicated to master. Many times, during her classes on Tuesday, her teacher, Mr. Kwon, had told his class that everything would be different after graduation.

He was right.

Iris actually knew little. No book, even the most advanced, could list all the possible answers given when she would do her first sessions. No textbook could list all the reactions to anticipate when a sensitive question will be asked. The human brain was far too complex and those of people diagnosed with pathology were even more complicated to analyze. Some did not know the notion of right or wrong, some thought it normal that several voices could dialogue with each other in one body.

The young woman found it fascinating. Many had criticized her for this strange passion. It was well known: the humankind rejects everything he finds different from him. Iris didn’t see it that way. These persons were not monsters, or at least they had not become monsters at birth. Seek to find out what made them like this to help them get back on track: that was why the job of psychiatrists had pleased her so much more than anything else. These people deserved help. They remained humans, like her, like the neighbor opposite. They deserved to be listened to, to be given another chance and this, despite all the horrors they may have committed.

Big words. Big ambitions.

All these things, she would not acquire them in a snap of her finger. Iris realized it, sitting here in front of one of the heads of the hospital in which she would be practicing for the first time. Her eyes quickly read the four names written on the paper. She had to memorize them.

Lee Jeno (20) - Park Hana (28) - Choi Beomgyu (19) - Kim Hyunbin (15)

Three of them were men and young ones above all. She felt a pinch in her heart when she noticed this little detail.

Some spent their lives here, locked between four walls without ever seeing the world as a free man. It was not rare. On the contrary, similar cases were very common. They were diagnosed with a disease that forced them to give up their lives which, very often, had not really started yet. Their innocence was ripped from them the second they passed through the huge hospital’s entrance gates. Some couldn’t stand it and preferred to stop everything. Iris understood them. Perhaps she would have done exactly the same thing if, unfortunately, she had found herself in their shoes. But children and teenagers weren’t the only ones; adults also found themselves tempted by suicide, some even suffering from chronic depression.

The sheet in her hands, reading these four names, the young psychiatrist sincerely hoped that she would be able to take a weight off their mind even for a few moments. In any case, Iris will throw herself body and soul to try.

The woman looked up at the man in front of her with curious eyes, as if she was asking: “Do I have anything else to know?”

“Oh yes!” He searched for a few moments in one of the drawers next to his printer and pulled out several large folders. “Here are your clients’ files. I’ll give them to you now so you can start your work as soon as possible.”

The old man noisily dragged the pile towards the woman who hurried in settling them against her chest. These pieces of information were valuable, they would constantly help her during the future sessions.

“I think that’s all. If you have a problem, don’t hesitate to come and see me or the head of the psychiatric department.”

“Thank you!” Iris punctuated her sentence with a bright smile that she could not restrain herself from doing. How happy she was to be there! Stress, fear, all of that seemed anecdotal compared to the feeling of seeing her childhood dream come true.

“Mister Im!”

Both turned towards the man who had just opened the door in a loud crash. A hand on her heart, wide-eyed, Iris was watching, as best she could, the shock had made her vision blurry, the guard fidgeting. She knew that it was a guard because he was armed and had a vest, that she believed was bulletproof, flanked with SECURITY on the back. Even the person with the least developed intelligence in the world would suspect that the presence of this man was not insignificant and even seemed worrying. The fact that they were in a psychiatric hospital where the greatest psychopaths of the country were staying did not help.

“There was a problem with Dr. Lee! An accident!”

Iris had no idea who the so-called Doctor Lee might be, but the reaction of the man she had just spent several minutes with was enough to send her into a panic.

Why was he that pallid, suddenly? What was going on?

“With who Mr. Lee was when this accident happened?” The old man’s voice was quivering, his hands trembling. He seemed to have trouble grasping the phone.

“With the Patient 309, sir.”

The phone slipped from Mr. Im’s hands, letting the continuous ringing of the hospital’s telephone waiting system ring in the room. This tune had lost its joy and sounded more and more like a horror movie music. The piano chords had deformed when the tension in the room had risen. Iris rushed to help him. She did not know the identity of this patient 309 but he didn’t seem to be good news. Oh no... Far from it.

“Call Kim Seokjin. Tell him to come to my office, now. Say it’s an emergency. And you Iris, I need you to stay here.”

All she could do was assent.

It only took two minutes for the door to open again. A breathless man entered her field of vision. Even the little bead of sweat and the redness of his face could not prevent Iris from opening her mouth, surprised by the vision that was offered to her. And what a damn good vision if she could say it. Purple hair, eyes sparkling of intelligence and benevolence, a bright smile showing perfectly straight and white teeth, a sculpted body highlighted by the white blouse of the hospital.

Wow.

That was the only word resonating in her head when she saw the man she knew was Kim Seokjin, thanks to the badge hanging from the right pocket on his chest.

With a firm grip, he shook Mr. Im’s hand before addressing a warm smile to Iris who returned the gesture almost instantly. How could she not? The woman quickly turned her attention back to her superior. A troubled expression was still present on his face as if it was indelible. It must have been really grave. Perhaps if her eyes had lingered a few more seconds on Kim Seokjin’s face, then she maybe would have noticed the latter’s red cheeks caused by their little exchange. That was not the case.

Clearing his throat, not wanting to be caught staring at the lady he did not know yet, the blond settled in the remaining chair placed in front of the desk. Why he was there? He had no idea. The only thing the man was sure of was that something serious had just happened. The few times Seokjin had been summoned to Mr. Lee’s office had always been punctuated by bad news. He would have preferred to act like a utopian and believe that the reason for his presence was simply due to the beautiful woman to his right. The stare of his superior dissuaded him.

What a shame.

“Doctor Lee had a violent confrontation with Patient 309.” Mr. Lee began to talk.

“But isn’t Patient 309—”

“I know who Patient 309 is, Seokjin. I don’t need you to remind me.”

Iris felt uncomfortable. The feeling of not being able to take part in a discussion that took place beside you was felt throughout her body. At the moment, the only thing she could understand was how useless she was.

“You know full well Mr. Kim that Patient 309 is a difficult case. A very difficult one, if I may add.” The purple-hair man nodded, his attention never drifting from his superior.

Iris continued to look at both men, wide-eyed.

“I thought Mr. Lee’s experience made him the ideal candidate to take care of him. Unfortunately, we can definitely say it wasn’t the case. You were the second choice. That is why you’re going to take over. Iris will be your assistant.”

At the mention of her name, two pairs of eyes arose on her, making her reflexively curl up on herself. If there was one thing she hated, it was being the center of attention. Seeing her reaction, the oldest addressed her a comforting smile.

“It will be a great way to prove yourself. If I remember your cover letter correctly, you said you wanted to work with criminals.”

She nodded.

“Great, so it’s settled. You’ll take notes of Jeon Jungkook’s behavior.”

Wait.

What?

“Excuse me?” The words were blurted out, the woman not caring as shock was still fogging her mind.

Jeon Jungkook. Her neighbor knew him. Her parents knew him. Everyone knew him. Hell, even her dog did, barking at the TV screen when his name would be mentioned.

The television broadcasts had spoken of him after each of his attacks and the phenomenon worsened when his identity was revealed following his arrest.  

Iris had watched this unfold before her eyes with a distracted mind at first. However, very quickly, after reading many interesting and well-written articles about his actions, she had changed opinion on this trial.

Ted Bundy, Richard Ramirez... Two names. Two serial killers. One phenomenon.

Hybristophilia.

A complicated term, later trivialized by the nickname “Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome", to refer to an attraction, a paraphilia, for people who have committed crimes ranging from theft to murder.

It was said that Jeon Jungkook, after his mugshot was posted on news channels, had received hundreds of letters from admirers during his temporary stay in prison before being transferred to SPHSK. The facility also received new declarations of love every day about their patient, who was locked up on the ninth floor. But that, no one knew, the psychiatric hospital preferring to keep a low profile on this case.

Many psychiatrists, renowned or not, had long studied this syndrome, and what caused it.

"Some believe they can change a man as cruel and powerful as a serial killer."

"Others 'see' the little boy that the killer once was and sought to nurture him."

Unknowingly, Iris Poquelin began to think like the fanatics of this young man whom she had only seen in pictures. It was not an attraction per se, there laid the difference, but rather a fascination for what he was as a human being.

Obviously, all these murders disgusted her. In fact, many times she had to stop reading when the descriptions became too detailed. What she found fascinating was what had driven him to do that. Why were most of his victims women? Was this related to a tragic first love? Perhaps an abusive mother? One thing had been totally placed in the dark by all these reports; that thing being the reason.

Many times, Iris, not yet a psychiatrist, had imagined discovering this reason. What a satisfaction that would be. Being able to understand how one of the country’s biggest serial killers’ brains worked.

This fascination was always present deep down in her brain, but reality had quickly caught up with the woman. Being with this person in a small room was not reassuring and the presence of Mr. Kim left her completely indifferent. Even if he was by her side, the man in front of her remained a person capable of killing or at least injuring you without any qualm. Poor Dr. Lee was the incontrovertible evidence of that.

“Is there any problem?”

“No. Well... I mean... Isn’t it like, too ambitious for me? I’m new after all...”

“Don’t worry. If Mr. Kwon recommended you, then you must be talented. I have no doubt about it. Seokjin will also be with you. He is the head of your department and is always here to answer all your questions. In this case, your role will be to take notes and help the patient feel comfortable. A feminine presence appears less aggressive than a masculine one, and it diverts the attention of a man, especially when it’s an attractive one.”

Iris pulled a face but did not react. She had no desire to be a window dressing so that Seokjin could ask his questions without problems. No complaints came out of her lips, however. She would accept anything offered to her for the sole purpose of making a good impression.

“Alright.”

넷.

Choi Beomgyu observed his surroundings nonchalantly. A table. A computer. Two chairs. Various flying papers scattered all over the place. He knew this office by heart. He knew that in the first drawer of the white desk rested his file as well as a syringe in case of a demonstration of any aggressive behavior. He knew that the only exit, except the door, was a window which access’ had been blocked by a metal cabinet in which office files and supplies were piled up.

What made him tick, being accustomed and attached to the routine, was the small piece of wood on which one could read Iris Poquelin inscribed in golden letters. His psychiatrist, and that had been the case for more than five years, was called Lee Kyunwon. Nothing to do with the female and foreign name written in front of him. Was he going to have a new psychiatrist?

Of course, the whispers, he could hear them. It was said that Jeon Jungkook, the newcomer, had a violent — the word not even strong enough — altercation with Lee, resulting in the doctor being sent to the hospital covered in his own blood. No one knew if this rumor was true, but everyone believed it. The reputation of the doctor and the nation’s number-one enemy did not help their favor.

To be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t be against changing doctors. On the contrary. Mr. Lee was a nightmare for anyone who was assigned to him. This man did not care about their feelings, considering them like vulgar animals not deserving of living. The psychiatrist himself had pronounced these horrible words in front of Beomgyu, who had then made up his mind about him.

He hated him.

His heart was forged only in stone and darkness. No positive feeling radiated, neither in his soul nor in his body. He was nothing but a heap of anger, impatience, monstrosity. His face brought with him only misfortune, and not even his fake smile could hide the ugliness of this doctor.

He, who, when Beomgyu did not answer, sent his files flying, smacking his hands on the desk so loudly that the ground would tremble. He who had once grabbed him by the throat, ordering him to speak. He who could only be defined as a piece of shit.

A fucking psycho, that what he was, and not even his colleagues could save him.

Psychologists, he had seen dozens of them but psychiatrists, never. Except for him. Thus, for the young mental health patient, Lee’s methods were the standard. In his point of view, all the psychiatrists he would meet would behave in the exact same way. And he dreaded it more than anything. This was the reason for his distrust of this change. Sure, Mr. Lee was a huge asshole, but Beomgyu had learned to recognize the slightest sign of annoyance that might precede a blow or an insult. Having a new psychiatrist was synonymous with a long and hard period of observation to successfully analyze the newcomer.

“Hello.”

He pivoted his head towards the jovial voice. Oh.

The woman held out her hand, surely waiting for him to grab it to greet her. He did not do so, too busy thinking about the gesture rather than responding to it. His former psychiatrist had never done that before. Not once. Visual contact was already scarce, so physical contact between the two men was simply unthinkable. Why was she doing this? Weren’t psychiatrists supposed to be unpleasant?

Unpleasant could not define the woman standing next to him, though. A benevolent smile seemed to be taped to her red lips. Her hazel eyes contained a sweet expression, full of good feeling. She was young and, above all, she was of an inhuman beauty, made of an excess of pureness. She moved slowly, her cheeks still rosy by pure water, soap, cream, and the ventilation of the room brought her perfume, a scent of honeysuckle. This woman was the opposite of Mr. Lee, and he greatly appreciated that. The teenager, however, did nothing to show it.

“Maybe she’s like him,” he thought.

Seeing that her patient did not seem decided to shake her hand, the doctor put hers back in the pocket of her coat. The disappointment was high but expected. This young man did not know her, why would he want to have physical contact when in the file it was stated that it took more than twelve sessions for his colleague to have him utter a few words. Stupid.

“My name is Iris. I’m going to be your psychiatrist from now on.” She smiled at him. “If you agree of course! If not, then you’ll have to tell me so I can transfer you back to your former psychiatrist, who is currently recovering. It was Dr. Lee, right?”

She saw very well the flash of anger pass through the eyes of her patient when this name was pronounced. Her face almost deformed in a grimace, but she held back. It was obvious that this child did not want to be pitied by anyone.

“Or we can try to get along. Maybe it’s better...”

A thin, almost invisible smile took place on the teenager’s face. Iris refrained from doing a dance of joy there, right now. For some, this gesture didn’t mean much. For Iris, it represented everything. Even if he was not comfortable with her, it was normal they only just met, his actions were not negative; he had reacted. And positively on top of that.

“I hope you will improve with these sessions, Beomgyu. I’m sure you can do it.” She gave him a smile so big that he looked away, his cheeks flushed.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Both words were whispered softly, but Iris heard them, making her smile intensify.

“So, for the first session, I want you to fill out this questionnaire. It’s quite long but it will allow me to understand you a little better. We’ll only do that today, I don’t want you to feel... You know,” she searched the word, muttering something in a language he couldn’t understand. “ah, shit. Um... over- overwhelmed? Yeah, that’s it. Overwhelmed.”

He laughed at the woman's rambling, but quickly caught himself, straightening up.

Their fingers touched. He did not pay attention to it, his gaze fixed on the sheet of paper. The latter was filled with ink; dozens of questions written in a small font followed one another on the front and back. Without a word, he seized the pen she gave him and inspected this object as if it were a strange creation unknown to all. Dr. Lee had never let him carry anything when both were in the room, much less an object in the pointy shape of a pen. During one session, he started screaming when poor Beomgyu grabbed one, accusing him of trying to puncture his eyes.

So why did this woman trust him?

“Go ahead,” she pointed to the paper, almost crumpled by the teenager’s firm grip. “Don’t be afraid of anything. If you think it is necessary, write it down. I’m not here to judge you but to help.”

He hoped she would succeed.

The only times the internees could experience a breath of fresh air were during the supervised outings held every Wednesday. Thirty square meters of lawn on which benches and chairs had been laid. On a small garden table were displayed books if they wanted to learn anything for twenty minutes. Jungkook used to walk away, standing near a small shrub hiding him from the eyes of others. Everyone knew him. It would have been surprising if the opposite had happened. For more than three years, every day, at least one media outlet would write an article about him. They knew what he had done, they knew his abilities. And even though the hospital was full of lunatics, no one was brave, or crazy, enough to speak to him.

No one but Choi Beomgyu.

He was three years younger than him, but it had been much longer since he had seen for the first time this building. The older of the two often wondered if he had not been born here, it would have made sense. He seemed to know every hallway, every office, every staff member as if they were the palm of his own hand. Often, when he made a comment on this subject, the teenager would always tell him that if luckily the chance to escape would present itself to him, he would know what to do and would not miss his chance.

The nurses should have never given him permission to watch all the seasons of Prison Break. Because of this, the boy was obsessed with this “future” escape and had started to draw his future tattoo. The brown-haired man did not have the heart to tell him that the nurses would never let him mark his skin in this way. It would crush the dreams of the poor boy.

Jungkook was certain of this; even the current head of the psychiatric department could not know his place of work as well as the adolescent. And for good reason, Beomgyu had arrived before him, in 2011. Nine years. Nine years was a very long time. Especially for a child whose innocence had been ripped. A childhood marred by the monstrosity of the parents. A childhood punctuated by daily trauma. A childhood spent in a basement, alone, with only the voices in his head as companions.

The head of the psychiatric department had been promoted to this prestigious position two years ago. All heard the murmurs of the nurses whose topics of discussion seemed to only revolve around him. Beautiful. Young. Smiley. Strong. An infinite of adjectives to describe him... None of the patients agreed with that definition; Jungkook even less. He didn’t understand. The few times their eyes had met had been during his various transfers from cell to cell before the door of the thirtieth cell on the ninth floor shut itself on him definitively. The man he knew was named Kim Seokjin did not inspire trust, not at all. His short longevity in the establishment only made it worse.

“They assigned me a new psychiatrist,” Beomgyu broke the silence that had settled between them. “Her name is Iris. I like her. She doesn’t judge me when I tell her about... about the voices. It’s a big change compared to the bastard. I couldn’t stand him.”

The teenager had expected to see a grimace set itself on Jungkook’s face. Faced with the mention of the unpleasant memory that had been their last altercation, it would have been a quite natural reaction. However, he did not. His face remained neutral. He didn’t care about causing his psychiatrist a head trauma. Beomgyu felt a shiver of fear running through his spine. Jungkook may have been one of his friends but he was still a man capable of taking your life in a split second. His altercation with Lee was a formal proof of that.

“And she’s very pretty,” The youngest continued.

The older one raised an eyebrow as a result of this sentence. The adult had never heard his classmate speak in any positive way about an employee’s physique.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you’re just a sick teenager for her.”

His words may have been spoken too dryly. The youngest’s tearful eyes almost made him regret opening his mouth. He did not apologize, however. Why would he apologize for expressing what he thought? He had never dealt with a psychiatrist and his shortened encounter with Dr. Lee left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d have been better off killing that asshole.

“I think she should be... There she is! Look, it’s the brunette over there.” He pointed to a direction opposite to theirs, which Jungkook followed with his gaze. It took the man a few seconds to locate her, the latter having been out at the same time as many other employees.

Short, she possessed to the highest degree the art of making this oblivion of nature disappear by the simple arrangement of the clothes she wore. Her black top, emblazoned with the Beatles’ logo, highlighted perfect breasts to hold in his hands and was stuck in jeans, concealing her shapely legs. The pair of thick black heels grew her a few centimeters, giving her a certain presence. The outfit had been so thoughtful and so skilfully arranged to go to him, that the eye had no complaints, even as demanding as it was, against the outline of the lines. The colored hair of a light chestnut fell into a cascade of strands, naturally wavy or not, on her forehead, obstructing her view. The bun that held most of the bright hair was loose.

The head, a marvel, was in no way the object of a particular coquettishness. The few defects dotted on the bottom of her cheeks disappeared under the foundation applied in a light layer, leaving for rendering a satin reflection. The black line drawn on her eyelids flowed under the bottom of her brown eyes, accentuating normally discreet dark circles. These eyes, on the other hand, drew out and were veiled with large lashes that lowered and cast shade on the pink hue of filled cheeks.

Her face gave off a dignified, amiable expression. She was simple, and as Plato would say: the beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity.

Beomgyu was wrong.

She wasn’t pretty.

She was ethereal.

He had never seen such beauty. She rivaled his favorite work of art; the sight that was one of his victims painted with her own blood.

“Mr. Choi, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Her eyebrows were furrowed, her accusatory finger pointed at the brown, but the laughter she let slip at the end of her sentence proved that she was just joking.

“Sorry, Noona.”

A female sigh was heard. Jungkook wanted her to do it again, already under the influence of this oh so addictive sound. Oh, how pretty she would be under him, her eyes filled with tears because of the pleasure she would feel thanks to his powerful thrusts. Oh, how pretty she would be looking like a Renaissance painting, her neck filled with painted marks from his mouth or better still, his hands.

His pupils dilated somewhat, his hands tightened, blood rushed into certain parts of his body. It took him several great inspirations for his maddening heart to slow down until it regained a normal rhythm. During the entire conversation between the psychiatrist and her patient, his eyes never left the face of the young woman who must have felt it as she turned to him.

She seemed to hesitate. He noticed it clearly. How could he not see it? The luscious and pink lower lip trapped by her white teeth. The hand that sensually came caressing the back of her neck. All these little things had caught his attention but what remained anchored in his head was her eyes. Without being able to explain it, the man felt a pinch in his heart after seeing the ounce of fear present in her irises. It disappeared quickly though, so quickly that Jungkook wondered if he had imagined it.

Instead of this anxious expression, a smile brightened her entire face, the same she had addressed to Beomgyu a few minutes earlier.

“Hello, Mr. Jeon.”

He was going to reply to her, maybe even compliment her so melodious voice, but he was prevented from doing so.

“Miss Poquelin! I was looking for you everywhere!”

At the call of her name, the brunette made a U-turn, her hair whipping the air because of this movement, thus breaking the eye contact with Jungkook to the great misfortune of him. His dark gaze turned to the asshole who dared to interrupt their conversation.

And of course, it had to be him.

He glared at Seokjin as he approached the woman, an annoying grin plastered on his lips. Why was he smiling so much? He had no reason to smile. He was working. Wasn’t remaining professional one of the most important rules of the job?

Bastard.

“Can you come with me? I need to talk to you about our patient.”

The look that the purple-haired man — seriously was hair-dye even allowed? —  gave towards Jungkook was not discreet. Were they going to talk about him? No. Surely not. But then why did he have to talk to her? What was so interesting to tell? He was sure this request was part of a bigger plan which only goal’s consisted of taking her away from him.

He wouldn’t let it happen. Oh no, no, no. Never. This woman had succeeded, with the help of three small, insignificant and banal words, to show him more affection than he had ever experience in all his life.

A childhood spent with a single mother not speaking a word to his son. Adolescence spent alone, murderous thoughts filling his brain. An adult life now shattered by his crimes.

The softness of the woman’s voice had mesmerized him, immediately wanting to trust her. She had not even remained frightened for long, only a few seconds before giving him a warm look, almost filled with tenderness. The tenderness that he would not let anyone enjoy except him.

To his great misfortune, he observed this woman nodding at the request of the blond. He thought it would end there, that she would leave without a look for the two patients. That was not the case. On the contrary, ignoring Seokjin’s pressing demands, she turned to them. Walking towards Beomgyu, she crouched down at his height and searched in her coat pocket for ten seconds that felt like hours before pulling out a small book which she handed him.

“I figured offering you the Prison Break books wouldn’t be a good idea so I opted for Harry Potter.”

During one of his sessions with the woman, after spending many hours in silence, the psychiatrist had oriented the conversation on his hobbies. The young man had told her of his idea of escape and tattoo. She had laughed and even offered to draw parts of the inked project. It was at that very moment that the teenager had deemed her trustworthy.

Dr. Lee would have allegedly got carried away and even hit him before planting the calming syringe in his neck. Their conversation had then diverged on different topics, and he had even come to ask questions himself to Miss Poquelin, who had been happy to answer. Thus, through this discussion, he had wanted to discover the adventures of the young wizard with round glasses, after hearing from his psychiatrist that these were her favorite books.

The smile he addressed her, book clenched in his hold, almost blinded her. She had never seen her patient smile like that and patted herself on the back for doing the right thing.

“Miss. Please,” Seokjin insisted. Jungkook never wanted to punch him as much as he did when he saw the woman’s bright smile slumped a little. What a pretty sight, and of course that asshole had to ruin it.

Rising, dusting off her pants and the bottom of her white coat, she sighed. The man wanted to give her all the compliments the world had to offer to see the radiance of joy in her eyes. It was his, however, that lit up when she turned to him and patted his shoulder with her soft hand. He did not notice the trembling that took control of her limb, obsessed with the smile she addressed to him.

“See you soon, Mr. Jeon.”

A gasp was heard, her own, when the head of her department strongly grabbed the woman by her arm to guide her as far away from the serial killer as possible. The man’s knuckles were white, showing the amount of force he was using to pull her towards him. Jungkook noticed it, his eyes fixed on the gesture. Knowing very well what would happen if he decided to act because of his murderous impulses, he held back, at least he tried.

The woman tried to undo the blond’s hand as softly as possible but did not succeed. The little whimper of pain that escaped from the woman’s luscious lips made him lose control. He was hurting her. This man was hurting this beautiful creature.

His beautiful creature.

Jungkook rose, quickly advancing towards the blond, his eyes blackened by anger, but, before he could even advance three steps, Beomgyu held him back.

The youngest beckoned him to sit down, but he could not hear anything. The continuous ringing in his ears prevented him from concentrating on anything other than the scene that was occurring in front of him. Taking a deep breath, forbidding himself from giving in to violence — he did not want to frighten the woman — he turned to the two psychiatrists who were whispering. Obsessed with his goal, he did not realize that Seokjin’s grip had loosened and that his thumb was now moving back and forth to alleviate the pain he had caused his colleague. When he reached their level, thus drawing their attention, he began to speak in a grave, intimidating voice.

“You’re hurting her.”

“Excuse me?” The purple-haired man replied, confused.

“Her arm. You’re hurting her. Let go.”

The two colleagues looked at each other, having a silent discussion through their eyes alone.

Seokjin was going to answer, unconsciously clutching the woman’s arm again to protect her if something went wrong. However, seeing Mr. Jeon’s gaze significantly darken and approaching the man, fists clenched, she concluded that it was not the most strategic of ideas.

Slowly, she freed herself from the grip to place herself in front of the serial killer, obstructing her superior from his sight. The woman knew first and foremost that what she was currently doing was dangerous, very dangerous. She had never been confronted with the patient and therefore knew none of his reactions. Of all the feasible she had quickly listed, what happened did not fit into any of her proposals.

As if she had just cast a spell on him, the murderous expression that seemed indelible on the man’s face disappeared. Instead, big, bright eyes filled with hope looked at her, lips in a pout. He looked like a little puppy. How strange. Fascinated by this reaction, the psychiatric side of the woman’s brain emerged, quickly seeking in her memory a thesis that could explain this reaction.

The intense gaze on her face made Jungkook blush, the latter misinterpreting the woman’s intentions. In his brain was now anchored the idea that perhaps the attraction he had for her was reciprocal.

He was finally going to compliment her on her voice, her beauty, her kindness, anything, but the fucking asshole, whose presence he had forgotten, manifested himself again.

“Iris, let’s go!”

His mind went blank. Jungkook did not even notice the two psychiatrists leaving.

Iris.

Iris. Iris. Iris.

Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris.

Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris. Iris.

This name, a beautiful name, fitting for a goddess, resonated in his skull like a mantra. And it quickly became a habit. Now, every second of his life would be lulled by the beautiful melody that was the sound of this name. The name of the one who would become his.

다섯.

“Does it still hurt?”

Iris's motionless eyes lighted up with their usual spark at Seokjin's voice but she said nothing, merely shrugging her shoulders, a thumb caressing her forearm.

No.

No, she was not hurt, at least the pain had subsided, turning into a simple pinch almost indistinguishable. However, if the ache had reduced, her disbelief remained glued to her skin, weighing down her mind.

What had just happened? The distant expression painting face said a lot. Her tormented thoughts kept twirling in her head, trying by all means to analyze these last minutes.

They had joined the apprentice's office shortly after the strange altercation between her patient, her superior, and the man everyone was talking about. Jeon Jungkook. Her thoughts, all disorganized, a jumble of her emotions, life, mixed in hundreds of colors, each darker than the other. The black encroached upon the pink and green, the same hue as the eyes that had stare at her as if she was... everything.

The man with the blades, according to the radio and television who chanted this nickname all day long.

The office was plunged into an alarming calmness. Only the occasional noises of turned pages, cracking chairs, crumpled clothes, would disturb this heavy silence. Seokjin was sitting on the couch that the woman had installed shortly after her first sessions, one object among many. At the rate of her orders at the expense of the hospital and her own, the woman’s office was rapidly transforming — perhaps too much for her bank account — into a real playground, an altar to pop culture.

Many times, Beomgyu, a patient she had come to know, understand, had shown his disdain for the monotonous white color of her furniture, of her walls. She could not bear to see the sad pout of the one who had only shown progress at the rhythm of their sessions. Many fellow psychiatrists, and even nurses, had opposed her idea the moment they had heard it. This office was a place dedicated to a profession, hence the need for it to remain professional in appearance.

Had she listened? Not at all, and now a painting filled with five hundred pokemons decorated the back of the door. Mr. Im's screams still echoed in the room, a reminiscence of when he had seen the artwork, but getting an earful was nothing compared to her patient's smile when his eyes had crossed the colorful mosaic.

She had been accused of showing favouritism towards Choi Beomgyu, even threatening to transfer the patient to another doctor. A request that, fortunately, had, at the end, been rejected. Iris didn't want Beomgyu to regress. Of her four patients, he was the one who trusted her the most, listened and tried to apply her advice. He would not protest when she would change the dose of his medication, or when she would try to involve him in the collective discussions held every Thursday.

Choi Beomgyu was the one she understood, knew, at least until today. For the first, since the beginning of these many private sessions, Iris Poquelin was helpless in front of this patient. A patient who had befriended Jeon Jungkook, a renowned serial killer that – she knew for a fact – was hated by an entire country. He had never told her this little detail, not even when they had brought up the subject of his relationships within the hospital.

The red skin, still bright, of her forearm was suddenly covered with a cold white liquid, pulling her away from her thoughts. Hands at least twice the size of hers came to apply the cream in silence. Looking up, Iris admired the man's face, taking in his nose, his sculpted jaw, his luscious, pink lips, asking to be ki... The woman coughed, rising abruptly. She placed her hand on Seokjin's hand, successfully drawing his attention.

“I can do it, you know?”

“I know but...” He sighed, searching for the right words. “I... Ha... It’s just that… Hum. I’m blaming myself. For what happened back there. It's my fault your arm is hurt, he's right, I hurt you. But... I… I couldn't… think. I couldn’t think of any other way when… When I saw you talking to him… I was scared, really scared. He's dangerous, Iris. And... What I mean is that... Well... You're new, so I don't want him to ruin your experience and make you change hospitals because you're a great psychiatrist and if you decide to leave, which I understand because I still hurt you, well I... Of course I wouldn't object! But... I... How to say... I'd be very—”

“Seokjin!” The man stopped, his cheeks and neck red. Trembling pupils met the wide-eyed Iris, who found herself caught off guard by this statement. “Breathe. Everything's fine. I don't plan on leaving anytime soon.”

The man's words pleased her more than she would admit. Whether it was nurses, her colleagues, or other staff members, none had made the effort to bond with the young woman, condemning her to eat her meals alone at a cafeteria table. Knowing that someone would be affected if she decided to leave warmed her heart.

The man sighed, relieved, but the red color remained painted on the tip of his ears, detonating with the purple of his hair. Picking up his papers in a hurry, Iris had no time to utter a single word that he was already leaving — almost running.

What a strange man.

Her mouth still ajar, her sentence hanging from her lips, the psychiatrist got up, taking her turn the same path as the head of the department. With her nose in papers, analysing the profile of one of her patients, Hyunbin, a young boy with dissociative identity disorder, the woman’s mind was elsewhere, anywhere but on the corridor in which the sound of her heels was resonating. Iris did not pay attention to what surrounded her until her file fell to the ground, the leaves scattered — she held a grimace at it — after colliding with a body.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” A hoarse voice, which could only be caused by smoking, approached her ear while a calloused hand raised her easily, as if she were just a vulgar rag doll.

The word SECURITY caught her eye, but it was the man behind her savior that held her attention. She was not surprised to see handcuffs attached to his tattooed wrists. All at-risk patients had to be handcuffed and monitored in order to obtain permission to move within the hospital. Seokjin had told her of numerous accidents that had sent many nurses to the ER. It was obvious that he too would be subject to these precautions.

Him more than anyone.

However, she was surprised by the smile that illuminated this face. A face that the woman had only seen wearing a sinister air in the photos of reports, documentaries, news... This expression was the same as the one he had addressed to her, only her – something she was proud of – in the gardens. Seeing an ounce of joy, kindness in his expression made him human, almost fragile next to the two armed men who surrounded him. She had been told that he refused to eat his meals, significantly making him thinner. The psychiatrist was sad to see they were right, and her thoughts had to be transcribed on her face as the patient himself lowered his head to, she assumed, hide his eyes with a few long strands of hair.

Iris tried to cross his gaze, almost desperately wanting to show him that she was not afraid of him, that she was nice, that she could be trust, but his remained fixed to the ground. Sighing, she gave up. He wasn't even her patient, at least not yet. Why was she putting that much effort into it? Greeting the two men with a nod, she began to leave.

“Miss?”

Never before had the psychiatrist turned so quickly to this word. The voice coming out of his mouth did not correspond in any way with his character. A sound so calm, soothing, as if mockingbirds had been trapped in his lungs. She now understood how he had managed to seduce each of his victims before stabbing them savagely, with no hint of regret.

Security became alarmed, picking up their tranquilizer guns from their belts, but she signalled them that everything was fine.

At least, she hoped.

“Yes?”

With great difficulty, his handcuffs complicating this simple gesture, the brown-haired man took a paper out of his pockets and gave it to her. His hands grazed hers. They were bruised, she noted. Purple, red, and blue were colliding, giving to this beige canvas, his skin, a jaundiced satire of a Monet’s painting.

“Thank you…” Those two little words revealed a burst of je-ne-sais-quoi in his black gaze, but it contorted into a fire fueled by rage when the security guard put a hand on his shoulder, moving his body away from the psychiatrist's enchanting smile.

She stood motionless in the now empty corridor of the hospital. Looking down at the sheet between her fingers, the woman gently unfolded it, not wanting to tear it — recycled paper is more fragile, it was a fact everybody knew. A gasp escaped her before she could even think of holding it in when she saw the contents on display for her, for anyone who would walk in.

A portrait of a disturbing resemblance was looking back her.

At the bottom right, a signature, a signature that everyone knew since it was most often found on the bodies of his victims.

A question floated in her head, sending chills along her spine.

How had he managed to reproduce her facial features on paper when they had only met two hours earlier?

Shaking her head, strands of chestnut hair obstructing her view, she folded back the drawing, putting it with the infinity of other papers, hoping that it would somehow get lost between the dozens of reports, analyses, prescriptions...

Something about this scheme isn’t right, a little voice — her conscience no doubt — screamed, trying to be heard amongst the other thoughts flowing in her head. Sadly, its alter-ego, the subconscious, was the one winning the battle, engulfing her mind, body, soul, with a jittery feeling.

Jeon Jungkook seemed to trust her.

An indescribable feeling took control of her body, transforming her thoughtful face into a true ode to joy. Maybe she looked ridiculous like this, smiling alone in a hallway stinking of disinfectant, but to be honest she didn't care. Nothing could spoil her immense satisfaction. She, a little novice who had left school until a short time earlier, had managed to approach Jeon Jungkook without him disfiguring her. There was something to be proud of, and to know that he had gone so far as to smile at her, a lovely smile, warmed her cheeks, and heart.

All of a sudden, a ding was heard in the room, disturbing her euphoria, causing her dazzling smile to turn into a frown. Who could text her right now? A photo of the sea greeted her when she unlocked her phone before paying attention to the new notification.

From Rosie! ♡ [10:56 AM]

you better come today, because i’m dying of boredom.

She rolled her eyes, sighing, but still smiled at the familiar name. It had been a long time since the woman had spoken with someone not wearing a white blouse. She sorely missed laughs, non-medical discussions and friendly insults. Since her arriving at the SPHSK, Iris had not had a minute for herself, as if she were a psychiatrist before being a human. She ate, drank, slept thinking about her patients, the sessions she would hold, the medications she would prescribe. Seeing her friend's name on her screen was like a release, as if she were finally letting go of the sigh she had tried to keep hidden since her arrival.

Guess she would have to make a detour on the way home.

On the ninth floor, a dark place where screams, insults and sinister noises of metal doors were one, the worst criminals resided, taking their murderous desires into their cells.

In one of the many rooms, a man was lying on the bed, staring at every crack of paint that the ceiling sported. His empty eyes, almost dead, detonated from the mad smile that decorated his lips. Immobile, not one of his limbs were moving, only his chest, at the rhythm of his breaths. His appearance, if anyone came in the room to see it, would remind of a wax doll, that time had frozen, preserving a fatal, disturbing beauty.

This cold, cadaverous appearance hid behind a brain whose thoughts were troubled, unable to subdue, consuming his whole being. His imagination gave him everything he wanted, his most violent and cruel desires. If he concentrated enough, he could imagine the softness of her skin, the texture of her brown hair, her breath colliding with his skin, her eyes staring into his.

Iris.

Closing his eyes, his breathing quickening, his cheeks reddening, he let himself be lulled by his dreams, his hallucinations of two bodies pressing against each other, the contact of skin covered in sweat from lust.

Iris.

Iris.

Iris.

The name fell from his lips like a prayer, it resonated between the soundproof walls. He called her, wanting to feel her close, wanting to see her smile in person, wanting to experience again the feeling of being appreciated ; something that only she seemed to be able to make him feel.

He called, and he called, but she never came.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Sitting at one of the free tables in the Ukiyo café, Iris listened to her friend’s reactions to her latest adventures. She had failed to keep the altercation that had taken place a few days earlier to herself. The image of Mr. Lee’s bloodied face, so much blood that the color of his skin could no longer be seen, seemed engraved in the skull of the young psychiatrist who could not suppress a shiver when she thought about it. Why had she asked to see the photos? Dumbass. Forgetting the professional confidentiality, she had not resisted telling what she had witnessed. If Iris had broken this rule without any problems was because she knew perfectly well that Rosé would say nothing.

She had been the first person with whom the woman had managed to forge links in this huge city. Their many commonalities had encouraged this relationship. Both came from a foreign country and knew of South Korea only its language. The first meeting between them, however, did not take place in optimal and pleasant conditions. It had almost ended at a police station in the Gangnam district, just two days after she had landed.

Anxious, I walked through the empty streets of the capital. It was dark, the only noises that could be heard were the waves of laughter influenced by alcohol, the cars’ horns and the music escaping from the few open windows. It looked like a mundane Saturday night. This late evening quickly turned into a nightmare when a hand fell on the top of my left arm, turning me towards a man’s body. His face was blistered, colored in a red hue, a sign of a possible problem with alcohol. This theory was confirmed at the very moment he opened his mouth. The smell that came out of it triggered a retch that I tried to hide by hiding the bottom of my face into my scarf. The cold, characteristic of a November evening, justified my action and therefore could not seem suspicious to the eyes, I supposed troubled, of this man. I didn’t know how to react, what did he want me to do? Why me, among all these passing people? I got my answer quickly.

“Go back to your country! We don’t want strangers here!”

One of my eyebrows rose, my mouth opened. I didn’t know what to say... I mean, yes, but I doubt he would like it. Knowing this, I preferred to abstain myself. The alcohol level running through his blood vessels was too high to be reasonable, he seemed capable of hitting me. Sometimes I cursed Koreans and their lack of laws on the consumption of alcohol in public places.

“Hey! You asshole!” A voice howled in the distance.

I turned to the source of the sound. A woman, who must have been a good half-dozen years younger than me, was coming fast towards us. The closer she got, the more I noticed the rabid expression that decorated her face. Her slanting eyes and facial features indicated to me that this girl had just heard the racist remarks addressed to me.

“Dare to repeat that to my face!” She was brandishing his fists. I couldn’t help noticing their size, smaller than average.

I was amused by the situation. This woman did not reach one meter seventy, miserable in the face of the good one-eighty meters of my assailant, but for all that, she did not seem to be the kind of people to be taken apart in the face of the slightest difficulty. The only thing she seemed to want to take apart was the drunken’s face in front of us; which she did. In a matter of seconds, a cracking sound, due to this magnificent punch, resounded in the street while I stifled a laugh. The man staggered before falling on the ground.

“You two! Stop right there! Police!”

I only had time to turn around before the woman version of Mike Tyson was pulling me by the arm in the opposite direction. The sound of footsteps treading the ground at a mad speed pushed me to move faster.

Right. Left. Left. Left. Right.

I did not count the number of times we had forked out in directions. I did not know. I was lost. Finally, it was after seven long minutes that my sidekick stopped and lay down on the cobblestones, with her back to the wall. Despite the fatigue, her eyes twinkled while a smile lit up her entire face. Nonchalantly, she reached out to me.

“Park Chaeyoung, nice to meet you.”

The green tea placed in her hands was now cold, she had noticed it after dipping the lips in the liquid and had been appalled by it.

“That’s some crazy shit you got to experience. What a way to start a new job. Only a day in and a patient has already assaulted a psychiatrist. You must’ve been terrified.”

She quickly nodded, more focused on the cold liquid in front of her than on the conversation the blond was having on his own. There was no point in interrupting her, she wouldn’t even notice it, too busy complaining about what she had just said. Iris had stopped listening when she had screamed at her because she had not told her the exact day it happened but instead had waited two weeks. Could she really be blamed here? First, she had to deal with the shock the situation had caused her and had to make sure Rosé would not say anything.

“If one day something like this happens to you, tell me. I’ll tear off his tendons and make some ropes for my Fender.”

The Australian was brewing her coffee way too aggressively. Drops escaped from the white container and stained the tablecloth she had installed that very morning.

“Isn’t it a bit too much? I mean... no. Forget what I just said. And you don’t have to look at me like that.”

“Dumb bitch...”

She suddenly laid down her cup, still cold, before pointing an accusatory finger at her friend.

“I don’t have to speak English to know you just insulted me.” Her friend whispered several other words in her native language that the psychiatrist ignored, preferring to bite into a strawberry cake. Several crumbs fell to the ground.

“Fucking hell, Iris!” Rosé grumbled as she watched the cake residue on the floor before getting up to fetch a dish towel behind the counter.

“There’s never anyone in this café, it’s always clean, but when you arrive it becomes a dump! And I’m always the one cleaning.”

“That’s literally your job.”

How lucky she had been. This simple job interview had quickly turned into a permanent contract to the delight of the Australian who had finally found a suitable source of income after months of research. One evening, one Saturday, the owner of the café called the young woman in a panic, almost begging her to accept the job after his two employees had disappeared. It was becoming more and more difficult to find a job with an interesting contract in the capital. Knowing this very well, Chaeyoung had jumped on the offer, ignoring the rumors concerning this place.

No one really knew what had happened in that café, but the atmosphere there seemed to weigh on the shoulders of those who dared to walk through the door.

To Iris’ delight, her teacher’s relationships and excellent grades for her degree had worked in her favor, earning her a job at the hospital. She did not have to search that much.

The door opened abruptly, triggering the doorbell which startled her and, at the same time, made her spill her tea on her right hand and the sleeve of her brand-new sweater. It didn’t burn. The tea was cold. Seriously, how had Rosé managed to get a job in a coffee shop? When she didn’t know how to properly reheat a drink?

“Hello, darlings!” Jimin walked through the door, his brown hair bouncing off his forehead.

She watched him walk towards them, frowning. His appearance surprised her. Of the two waiters at the café, he was the one in charge of the night shift. What was he doing here? In the middle of the afternoon?

A flowery smell infiltrated her nostrils when the Korean bent down to enclose her in his arms. It had taken her a while to get used to the loving side of their friend. Human relations had never been her forte, all because of the difficult relationship she had with her parents since her departure. Jimin had thrown this through the window and seemed determined to compensate for this cruel lack of affection.

His belongings were almost thrown on the table next to her before their owner did the same thing on the chair.

“Watch out love, your tea seems cold,” she pulled a face but said nothing.

“Why are you gracing us with your presence, dear colleague?” Rosé asked.

“I wanted to talk with Riri about a rumor concerning her place of work, and a certain head of the department of psychiatry.” His eyebrows began a wiggling dance that made her grimace, or perhaps it was that fucking nickname.

“We’ve talked about it at least a dozen times already.”

It was true. As soon as her session with Hyunbin had ended, and after checking that no one would see her using her phone while on duty, the woman was quick to recount in detail the altercation with Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook, without mentioning the latter's name.

Even though Park Jimin was the definition of kindness, he was still a man willing to do anything if something happened to his friends. To say that a serial killer had approached her would not have been the best idea. Not at all. Thus, excluding a certain tattooed man also known as the archetype of danger, she had merely transcribed the words, the anxiety, and the tender gestures that her superior had had for her after the episode of the garden. It didn't take much for Jimin to draw hasty conclusions, already talking about the couple they would form.

He hadn’t even seen the guy’s face yet, for fuck’s sake.

“Darling,” Jimin looked at her as if her intellectual quotient was equal to an oyster’s one. “You possibly have something going with a guy and you deny it. I don’t understand.”

“Maybe I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Bullshit.” He chased away her argument with a flick of his hand, the same he would have done if a fly had ventured too close to his face.

“I could file a moral harassment report.”

“But you won’t because I’m the one behind all your shags.”

Her two friends began to laugh as she muttered insults under her breath that they could not understand. At that moment, she understood Chaeyoung and her desire to call her an idiot in English. The words she used were more violent, but of course, they would never know.

A three-note ringtone, hers, made her look down at her screen, which had just turned on, a sign that she had received a notification.

“What the fuck!” Her exclamation caught the attention of both her friends who craned their heads to see her phone.

From Unknown [4:09 PM]

Hey Iris! It’s Seokjin. Hope you don’t mind that I took your phone number from your file. I wonder if  maybe we could meet up outside the hospital. You know... like a date. I wanted to properly apologize for the scene earlier. I hope you will say yes. Please, let me know.

She could already hear Jimin’s voice screaming “I told you so”.

여섯.

“You did what?!”

Sitting at a chair of the Ukiyo café – again – she stirred the burning liquid filling the white cup. The woman had just announced to the two friends her decision concerning her superior’s proposal. Jimin’s presence again intrigued her enormously, but she had to face the obvious reason behind it. Of the three of them, the Korean was the one constantly hungry for gossip. Willing to do anything to find a piece of crisp information to get under the tooth. He lived for his brother’s complicated heart stories, the arguments between his neighbors, the heartfelt breakup scenes in the subway.

One hour. It was the time it took her to think of this stupid proposal’s fate. When she had read the few words that appeared on her screen, a grimace of disgust had formed on her face, making her ugly. Chaeyoung’s words.

“What went through your head? To refuse an Apollo like that?” If his brown eyes had the ability to throw bullets, she would have already died three times.

No response from her, except a shrug. She didn’t really know what had happened. Seokjin was an attractive man, perhaps too much for his own good. But despite his advantageous physique, he remained one of her superiors. And she didn’t like it. No one bit. This was what the woman explained to the two men who looked at her with their arms crossed. This scene was unreal. She appeared to be part of a police series in which a serial killer was interrogated by two police officers in a shabby room. Rosé and Jimin taking on the role of police officers. The shabby room had been transformed into the warm cavern that was the Ukiyo café. She was the serial killer, and here, the only one of her victims seemed to be her chances to fuck.

“I understand you, I really do but you know...” Jimin’s attention was fixed on his laptop, trying to write his thesis. Something boring about astrophysics. “Men are trash, we all know that. At least most of them, I don’t count.” He resumed, watching her roll her eyes. “Stop worrying too much. I doubt he sent you this message to propose to you.”

“He’s right. You should reply to him and set a date.” Rosé added.

“So he can think I’m a girl who wants to fuck him to get a promotion? No thanks. I have my dignity.”

“We don’t care about your dignity. It’s almost non-existent, you destroyed it when you threw up on someone’s back in a club.”

“Are we going to bring this episode back on the table again?” She was outraged. This topic of conversation was all too recurrent for her liking. Not a week went by without it being mentioned.

“Do you remember when she hurled on your mother’s carpet?”

She stopped listening.

Mechanically, she turned the ring decorating her right index, trying to entertain her mind. It was a simple jewel, beautiful indeed, but which seemed to be nothing but a superficial decoration from a stranger’s point of view.

Wrong.

This ring meant so much to her that Iris couldn’t imagine herself living without it. Ten years earlier, a few days after announcing the news of her departure for Paris, her grandmother, Monique, had taken her aside. Her black eyes had twinkled with pride that day. With her life-marked hands, she had given her granddaughter a little red box. Trembling hands taking the case, she had, at that time, opened the latter to find a platinum wedding ring with regular round patterns carved in metal. Her words had jostled faster than the girl had ever thought, thus resembling only a heap of stuttering, before giving it back. She could not accept a gift of such great value. The only thing her grandfather had said, a big smile on her face, was this sentence, a sentence full of determination.

“With a brain like yours, I’m sure you’ll soon be able to pay me hundreds of these.”

The biggest smile she could offer had illuminated her young face that day. And, indeed, the first thing she did when the salary from her small jobs reached a fairly high amount was to buy her the same model. Iris and her grandmother had such a pure bond. The old lady had also been the one with the honor of named the infant she was at one time. She was the first to believe in her, the first to encourage her about her departure, the first to give her a reward for her career that had yet to begin. This ring was worth all the trophies from all over the world. This ring represented her duty of remembrance for the great woman that was Monique Poquelin.

“Riri, are you listening?” Rosé’s sentence brought the psychiatrist back to reality.

“Yes, of course...” She answered but the three of them knew the reality hidden behind her lie; the conversation that was occurring before her eyes didn’t matter. Only the warm face of the old woman seemed inked in her retina.

Thinking of her grandmother, she avoided doing so. She had loved her, she still did. She loved her more than her own mother, and that was why it was impossible to grieve. Since the recent announcement of her death, seeing her in her dreams had drowned her in an ocean of sadness, of nightmares where only black colored the sky.

This moroseness must have been transcribed in her dull gaze, empty of joy because her two friends looked at her with compassion, little comforting smiles on each of their faces.

She hated being looked at like that: as if she were just a fragile little child, ready to collapse in tears every second. She said nothing, however, with her gaze fixed on the hollows that had formed in the wood of the table.

“Yeonjun called, he wants us to go out tonight.”

Internally, she thanked Rosé for diverting their attention to a subject other than her own person.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll run into your doctor.”

“Connard...” She murmured.

“Hey, I know what that means!”

Though, as much as it saddened her, Park Jimin was always right...

Waking up was a long and difficult ordeal. Her head was spinning, her mouth seemed to have been plastered, her whole body was sore. Disoriented, that was the feeling that filled her brain at the moment.

Opening her eyes, she observed the surroundings, now painfully aware of the clothes of the previous day unceremoniously rolled into a ball on the ground, trying to find something familiar. Without much success. It wasn’t her house, not at all. The walls had nothing to do with those covered with photos and paintings of her apartment. Nor did they resemble Jimin’s taupe-colored ones.

Where was she?

With her trembling hands, she tried to grab her cell phone. The woman was used to keep it nearby, on the bedside table. However, a powerful embrace prevented her from doing so. It was this one that made her plunge back into the memories of the day before.

A blond-haired man.

Enticing smiles.

A taxi ride punctuated by messy kisses.

A back falling on a mattress.

Fuck.

Normally, each of her actions was done knowing full well the consequences they could engender. The rule she had set to herself had been broken last night.

She needed to get out of here.

Determined to get up, she turned to land on her back. Nonetheless, Iris should have foreseen it, being clumsy in nature, nothing went as planned. Her body fell on its right flank, thus facing a face that seemed impossible to erase from her memory.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The picture in her field of vision was pleasant. There, was a man lying in his purest state: lulled by the arms of Morpheus. She could have found some beauty in this image if she didn’t know this said person. Sadly, the woman was extremely familiar with this man, enough to have seen him hundreds of times in the hospital.

Seokjin was in the bed.

Naked.

A dream for any normally constituted employee of the hospital. It could have been hers, too.

It wasn’t.

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” She shook her head, praying her lucky star that this was just a dream and that it would only take a few seconds for everything to return to normal.

An arm wrapped itself around her waist, colliding her body to a sweaty chest. Her eyes widened. Two large legs intertwined with hers. A hairy head sat in the hollow of her neck, leaving her no choice but to stay in this position.

The grip of his arms tightened around her belly, reminding her of her goal. Gently, one of Iris’ hands grabbed the man’s wrist, trying to untie the knot of their limbs, without success. On the contrary, the grip strengthened.

Sighing in defeat, she let her head fall in a final act of abandonment. Her nose scrunched up briefly. Anger was slowly accumulating in her body. Why did she come across the clingiest guy in Seoul? No piece of her skin seemed free of his touch.

“Iris,” he growled in his sleep.

She was surprised to find that he remembered the name of his conquest. He still had to be conscious when serious things started, unlike her who had fallen into his arms within seconds. Alcohol had a bad influence on her, she knew it, she had always been told. Only, at that very moment, she was not drunk, so when his hand began to slip towards the part of her body between her legs, she got up, at least tried. Her legs seemed made of cotton, her chest was sensitive, she only knew why when her eyes met the hickeys and traces of teeth.

My god.

Without any delicacy, she rose abruptly. The man’s laments had no effect on his colleague. The latter gathered her belongings with trembling hands, putting them on without paying attention to the proper set.

She had to go.

Her attention focused on her goal, she did not hear the rustling of the sheets, nor did she notice the male clothes that disappeared from the ground to be put on.

Her body jerked back, the fault to two hands placed on her ass. She turned around. His sleepy expression made him look childish. He looked at her in a way that bothered her. He seemed too nice, almost too affectionate for it to be normal.

The man was still drunk, she concluded.

Iris always had habits since childhood that varied according to her emotions. The discomfort, an emotion she was currently feeling, was reflected in her hand, which was slowly going back and forth on the back of her neck while her teeth lacerated her bottom lip. It seemed that this was not a good idea since in no time at all, the stare of the blond fixed itself on them.

She stood motionless for a few moments, not sure of what would happen next. His hands went down to the woman’s thighs, grabbed them to pull her towards him. With this simple gesture, his broad bust was clasped against her chest.

This contact was enough to mess up with her thoughts. Pathetically, her hands came to rest against the wider ones of the man to repel them. However, they remained in their original position when kisses were dotted on her neck. Her cheeks had become so red that even if he had wanted it, Seokjin could not have ignored it.

Without knowing what was taking him, he put his hand on hers. It was so pretty, her hand... Fine, neat, the nails were not too long, and perfectly filed. The skin was smooth and tanned. Anyone could have been tempted to touch it. Anyone now being him.

When they were only inches away from each other, she felt her heart start beating again. It was drumming so hard against her chest that it felt like it was ringing in the room.

She took a deep breath and turned, facing the blond’s smile. That smile... Cursed smile. So beautiful, so charming. He seemed to have been endowed with it only to seduce girls like her. Naive. Easily charmed.

Iris felt rejuvenated. She felt like she was seventeen, like she had never had sex with anyone. Lord, how beautiful he was... His hair was also shiny. The strands fell into his face, giving her a delicious view of his shoulders, which she saw the muscles’ protruding under the shirt that he had put on quickly. Her heart was beating so fast. She felt the man’s hand on her waist rise slightly. A shudder travelled her spine. The feeling of this hand on her skin just covered with a blouse was unknown to her, the memories of the previous day altered by alcohol.

She crossed the psychiatrist’s burning gaze and felt herself melting. God, why was he making this difficult? Her legs gave up, but the hand holding her waist caught her body in time. The other forced her to stand.

“Iris?” he asked.

“Hum...” she murmured, her brain more fogged than ever.

“Iris, are you ok?”

She barely heard the question. Her arms rose and landed on the blond’s shoulders. She

slipped them around his neck until she trapped the back of it with her wrists. “Jin...” she whispered, looking him straight in the eye.

Fuck it.

Her voice was once again almost begging. What was she begging him? A small voice in her head, the one of her heart, gave her the answer. And she listened to it, forgetting any notion of professionalism. She tightens her grip around his neck, using her arms more than her legs to straighten herself. Her face came close to his superior’s. She felt his breath on her cheek.

“Kiss me...”

She distinguished the glimmer of surprise in his eyes. It then sparked up until he was looking at her with an incandescent look. Seokjin didn’t know what to think. In fact, he was no longer really in a position to think. A few minutes before, her only goal seemed to be to leave the apartment and now she was throwing herself into his arms. His eyes traveled between Iris’s mouth and her coppery pupil.

He saw this light oh so special, oh so beautiful, swirling into the brown gaze.

Desire... He felt almost intimidated. Knowing that a woman so intelligent, and so beautiful, could feel something such as lust for him stunned Jin. She continued to look at him, her mouth imperceptibly ajar. Yielding to his demon called lust, the man put both hands at her waist, slamming her against him. He lifted her slightly from the ground, Iris’s arms quickly wrapping themselves around his neck in surprise.

She smashed her lips against his. The carnal contact electrified her. She felt a discharge running through her whole body, going through all her veins, all her blood vessels, all her nerves, to converge in one place: her heart. When all this electricity reached her, she thought it was going to explode. Jin deepened the kiss with an almost violent spirit.

The woman uttered a groan of contentment at that moment. The man’s lips were hot, burning. His tongue, which danced with hers, still tasted like whiskey. Iris stopped for a moment this kiss so passionate to slightly bite Jin’s lower lip. She opened her eyes and saw that he was already looking at her. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks and again wanted to run away.

What was she doing?

“Mr. Kim...” The psychiatrist began.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking as embarrassed as she was. “I shouldn’t have...”

“No, no! It’s my fault, I’m the one who asked you to kiss me. I’m so sorry... I’m going to leave. Anyway, it’s not like... It happened of our own free will, right?”

“No, of course... None of us wanted that.”

“Right...”

They looked at each other for five seconds. Five long – very long – seconds.

Iris could feel her heart pounding. She didn’t want that... Oh, really? No, of course, she didn’t want to... He was still her superior. In her head, her reason and heart fought a fierce battle, over which of the two would take precedence over her thoughts. Tired of hearing these debates that she could not control, the brunette ceded: “Oh, fuck it!”

Forgetting all her responsibilities, listening only to her desires, she jumped around the man’s neck to kiss him savagely. He responded instantly to this fiery embrace with the same intensity. She felt his mighty hands squeeze her against him. Jin kissed her with an unconfined force, and she was responding with the same intensity. Her hands gripped her lover’s hair, his beautiful purple hair. She felt his big hands caressing her back and while one was holding her against him, the other was stroking her skin.

The woman no longer controlled anything, she was only aware of one thing: her desire for Seokjin. She had the curious impression that he felt the same way, and this only amplified her excitement.

Iris felt herself colliding with a mattress. She wobbled for a moment, but powerful hands caught up with her and tilted her backward. It did not take her long to guess that they were in the room from which she had previously fled and that he was lying her on the bed. His bed. Her superior’s bed. God.

Not wanting to deal with the guilt that would surely creep and eat her soul, dhe did not let her thoughts wander any longer as he resumed his previous actions, kissing her even more passionately if it was possible. She hugged him as if her life depended on it and occasionally groaned with pleasure, especially when he was running his hands over her body.

She was completely lying across the bed as Jin stood above her, leaning one of his hands on the fluffy mattress so as not to crush her. With her thin hands, she began to unbutton his creased shirt. She would have wanted to go at full speed, not to wait, but she also wanted to make the fun last. So, button after button, she laid bare her lover’s torso.

“Do you really want that?” he asked, getting up a little. “I mean, we were drunk...”

“I want you,” she murmured, her eyes full of desire. “I want you to fuck me... Please…”

Jin smiled and whispered to her: “I think I can do that.”

The woman emitted a small, crystalline laugh. With one hand, she defied her hair to let it fall free around her head. He kissed her again, holding her neck with one hand. One of his forearms helped him to stand above her, dominative, and with his other hand, he unbuttoned Iris’ blouse with unbearable slowness. He had left her lips and with every stud he removed, he would lay a kiss on the sweaty skin. Meanwhile, she was finishing taking off his shirt.

When he was shirtless in front of her, she could not help but smile as she looked at all the muscles that were offered to her. With her hands, she followed the silhouette of his pectorals, slightly scratching the velvet skin and stealing a few sighs from Seokjin.

Suddenly, the latter removed the last button from her blouse. Iris’s breathing stopped. She had no idea what to expect. She blamed alcohol for it...

Her brown eyes fixed Jin, who was now kneeling on the floor, his shoulders at Iris’ thighs level. Redness crept on her cheeks. This situation was not really embarrassing, but terribly erotic, and it was the first in a long time that she was experiencing this kind of thing. Perhaps the most sensual part of it was Jin’s mutinous gaze, the look that said so many things, including: “I know what I’m going to do, and you don’t...”.

A smile adorning her lips, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, waiting with barely concealed apprehension what was to come. She felt the zipper of her skirt slowly being undone. She wanted so much to yell at him not to go as slowly, to become as fiery as when he had kissed her earlier... But her lover seemed determined to be desired – in the truest sense of the word – and to frustrate her for as long as possible.

He dragged the skirt along her thighs, brushing her skin in passing, making her sigh. She put a hand on her forehead to try to calm down and control herself, but nothing helped. The apprehension and desire took precedence over all her other feelings. She wanted to hug him, feel him against her, kiss him, caress his muscular back... She wanted to feel his hands again on her hips, on her skin, in her hair...

He finished taking off the skirt and threw it on the floor with his shirt. Iris noticed that he had left her blouse, without trying to find out what was underneath. Only one piece of black cloth from her bra could be seen. She congratulated herself on putting on nice lingerie: her bra was decorated with white lace, the straps were embroidered, and her panties matched.

He could see them, her panties, now that nothing was hiding her. She felt herself blush again, under the watchful and expert eye of this man. She sighed in vain to relax, but nothing helped. She felt Jin’s fingers running over her thighs, stroking them imperceptibly.

Fucking shivers.

He was getting closer and closer to her most sensitive area...

“Jin...” she murmured, in a semi-conscious state.

“Yes, baby?” he replied with a smile in his voice, visibly very happy with the effect he had on her.

Iris did not answer and turned her head, the face on fire. Seokjin got up and came back above her. When he was in her field of vision, Iris smiled and drew him to her fervently, to kiss him with as much force as she could. The girl moaned when she felt him spread the sides of her blouse and caress the bare skin of her sensitive stomach.

Seokjin broke the kiss, stood up and examined very carefully what was available to him, starting with Iris’s face, on which various emotions passed. He looked at her red cheeks, finding her simply adorable, so far from the serious woman in the hospital. He stroked her brown curls, haloed around her head, buried his fingers in it and played with it. He looked for her eyes, but she seemed determined to avoid his gaze, stubbornly fixing the opposite wall of the room. Thus, he turned her face to him with authority and forced her to look at him, which she did, but not without blushing even more.

“A problem?” he asked with a hint of irony.

Iris shook her head imperceptibly and the man smiled. However, he uttered a hiccup of surprise when Iris grabbed him by the neck with the energy he no longer thought she could have and lowered his mouth on her own to kiss him violently, ardently... He responded, enclosing her neck between his two big hands. Iris moaned again and he strayed a little to contemplate her.

She whispered: “You shouldn’t smile like that...”

“Like that?” Seokjin replied, reiterating his smile, identical to the previous one.

“Yes...” Iris breathed, kissing him again with force and warmth.

Seokjin was completely trapped in the young woman’s embrace. He did, however, have a little idea of how he might make her let go. His hands were free, but he did not want to use them to loosen Iris’s embrace. No, he knew so much more ways to overwhelm a woman...

He slid his right hand over Iris’ shoulder. The left went down on her hip, to go up very slowly, following a zigzag path on the tender skin of her belly. He had fun sometimes pressing, sometimes caressing, provoking various reactions on this particular part of her body, a work of art truly, especially spasms of surprise. It was definitely a sensitive place for her...

However, she continued to hold him against her, without loosening her grip, like a lioness whose sharp claws refused to let go of a prey... The man did not back down and continued his little game, finding satisfaction in it.

He raised his left hand to the woman’s bra, played with a strap with his right hand. Iris moans slightly but never stops kissing him. He began to wonder if she had not understood what he wanted to do or if she simply wanted him to go further. Iris was intelligent, and although in this field she seemed far from being an expert, her brain continued to function. In slow motion, of course, but it still worked.

Jin’s wandering hand stroked her right breast through the black and white fabric barrier.

God, he was gifted, she thought.

She never knew she could feel such pleasure without even being naked... With her previous ex-boyfriends, she never kept her clothes for very long, and they didn’t get lost in foreplay, preferring to get to the bottom of it quickly. Here, lying on the bed, breathless, she began to wonder if she had ever felt such pleasure in bed as Kim Seokjin gave her by simply stroking her belly and kissing her with ardor.

She felt Jin’s hand slip under her and stroke her back. He seemed to draw on her skin, making her his canvas. The woman tried to guess his artwork, the fingers now transforming into delicate brushes.

Letters... She closed her eyes, savoring the caress, and concentrating on what he wanted to say to her. A P... a R... an E... a T... Wait, two... a Y...... It took her a few seconds to piece together the word in her head.

Pretty...

She turned pink with pleasure and shyness. Such a word from such a man took on a whole new meaning... Besides, nobody had ever told her. She had never been told that she was cute, but even less told that she was pretty...

“Don’t you agree?” He whispered in her ear.

Iris blushed even more when she felt the intonations of his voice echoing in her head. She didn’t even realize he had broken the kiss, too focused on the compliment to pay attention.

Suddenly, she saw him straighten up. She had loosened her embrace without noticing it, again. He had won, and without even taking away a single garment... How did he do that? How did he emanate that much sensuality, that much charisma? How did he arouse so much desire in her? Was he feeling the same? She doubted it very much...

Iris was startled when, approaching her, he touched her thigh... She blushed again. What the hell was she doing? She had seen others! She wasn’t that prudish, usually...

He looked at her. She was apparently thinking intensely. So, it never stopped? Even when she was having sex, she was cogitating...

He smiled and saw that she was looking at him with increasing interest. What was she thinking? A new look painting her eyes. This one, for once, he had never seen it decorating her captivating irises. If he didn’t know her so well, he would have sworn it was a naughty look. But not her, not Iris Poquelin... No, she was incapable of such a look, having accustomed him to stares filled with goodness, cleverness.

Suddenly she surrounded his waist with her legs, tightening her grasp around him, and forced him to lay on his back, under his bewildered gaze.

“What are you doing?” asked Jin, skeptical.

“Stop asking,” Iris muttered in his ear, as he had done for her.

Like this, perched above him, she could keep control of the situation. Not that she would have disliked being “dominated” by Jin – not at all – but she also appreciated being able to do what she wanted. She kissed him on the neck, while he stroked her back of his large hands. God, she loved his touch... He followed each bone in her spine precisely, grazing his fingers between the fabric of her bra and her skin and went so far as to descend on the small of her back.

She uttered a cry of surprise when he slipped a hand under her and stroked the thin skin from the inside of her thighs. Oh no, no, she was going to lose control again...

How was he so gifted, so voluptuous in the slightest of his gestures...? How could she not surrender to him? How could she resist him? How did she not give up when they met in the hallways or when they chatted in his office?

She felt Jin’s hand grips firmly on her wrist and the one he had slipped between her thighs went up her waist to tumble her to the side. She found herself on her back again, short-winded. He repositioned himself above her with authority and looked at her with dark eyes... Iris melted under this gaze and completely abandoned the battle. Jin’s wrist fell back on the mattress and she stopped pushing him away.

Her legs were still enclosed Jin’s waist, and she had no intention of removing them. She felt a bit like she was keeping control, holding it so possessively.

Suddenly his hand, which did not hold her wrist, went down to the level of her thighs, and again drew arabesques on the tender skin that lined the inside of her legs. Iris bit her lip so as not to moan, and the man gloated seeing the power he had over her...

He continued to draw inside her thighs. The closer he got to the more sensitive part of her body, the faster Iris’s breathing accelerated. He saw her free hand gripping the sheets like a lifeline. Seeing the energy she put into keeping control of herself made him even happier. He hated girls who abandoned themselves too fast in his arms.

No, Iris wasn’t like that. He would not be able to get her to give up quickly... Although...

He put the back of his hand on the top of Iris’s panties and stroked her through the fabric.

Iris closed her eyes, biting her lip with force, so much so that she felt a little blood streaming down her mouth. But, even like this, she refused to lose control, no, she wanted to remain in control of herself. But God it was hard... So hard.

She could not prevent, however, a groan from escaping her lips when he pressed lightly on her most sensitive spot, through the light fabric. She did not dare to imagine how she would feel when she would be completely naked if the mere fact of being in her underwear before his eyes made her completely lost it...

Seokjin smiled when he saw her shudder. He was on the right track... He pressed again and triggered a moan. Stopped his torture, the man brought his hand back to Iris’s upper body, who was finally able to breathe. His brown eyes crossed her coppery gaze. In fact, if he had not looked so often at her eyes, he would have never guessed what color they were, at the moment, because the pupils of Iris were as dilated as the one of a cat in the night...

What heroic act did he do in his past life to see her like that? He stroked one of her burning cheeks. Blood poured to the surface as if trying to escape. He looked at Iris’s mouth. She had not let go of her lip, and he found her oh so desirable, hopeless like this.

When he stroked her hair — without letting go of her wrist, which was brought back over her head — the woman closed her eyes, happy to be able to relax again without fear of losing control. She felt him lay kisses on her eyelids and smiled, finally setting her abused lip free. One hand stroked her lover’s back gently, having fun drawing the outline of his muscles that she felt protruding under the skin. She lowered it, like Jin earlier, on his back, so close to his ass.

Feeling as frightened as a teenager during her first time, she decided to pick herself up and be bolder. If she was doomed to stay on her back — which she did not dislike in the end, quite the contrary — might as well try to enjoy it anyway. Her eyes still closed, blindly, she brought her hand back to Jin’s belly, whose abs she stroked. She would have liked to open her eyes to see them but decided to stay like this. She lowered her hand again and felt the pressure on her wrist strengthen.

Did he seriously thought he was the only one who knew how to drive someone crazy?

Her hand came into contact with Jin’s hardened member, drawing a hiss from his chest. She began to caress him through his sweatpants which he had put on before catching her earlier. She could feel him breathing harder, and faster.

She concluded that playing this game of “who would lose control first” was genius because Seokjin, obviously determined to win, had just lowered his hand to the level of her crotch.

Iris’ hand went up and untied the knot of Seokjin’s pants. He didn’t help her, and she had to do everything. When she finally succeeded in opening it, the woman began to lower it along her superior’s legs. This time she felt that he was helping her, and the pants went to join the rest of their clothes on the floor.

The heat emanating from his torso drew a sharp breath from her when he came closer. Still blindly, she grabs the erect length and began a small back-and-forth motion with her left hand. She would have liked to use her right, but the psychiatrist was apparently not determined to let go of it...

Jin slipped his hand behind her back and slipped it between her panties and her skin. Iris was startled when he stroked her ass and felt the garment slip along her legs. But he stopped very quickly, not even discovering all of her intimacy. His hand went up to the bra. He arrived at the clip, that little attachment that prevented him from accessing that desirable part of Iris’s body... Undoing it, he pulled up his hand again to begin to lower the first strap of the item of clothing. Iris had to bring her hand back to allow him to remove the shoulder strap.

“I won...” he whispered softly in her ear, causing the girl to open her eyes.

She looked into his and whispered: “Don’t cry victory too fast...”

But she whined when Jin’s right hand stroked her breast. She felt her wrist shackled free and allowed him to remove the other strap. Seconds later, the black bra was laying on the ground. In spite of herself, Iris felt a blush rose to her face again.

She was intimidated to be under that gaze. Did she live up to expectations? He had certainly seen more beautiful, more experienced women... Her chest probably had only the advantage of being firm...

She closed her eyes again, to avoid his gaze. She felt his hand caressing her right breast. A sigh escaped her. He was so good with his hand... His fingers followed the shape of her breast, and he lingered on her nipple, which he pinched, causing Iris to moan in surprise, and forcing her to reopen her eyes. She wanted to move one hand, but with incredible speed, he grabbed both wrists and firmly blocked them.

“Let me do it,” he said.

“It’s not fair...” She feared that he would feel neglected concerning all the pleasure he provided her.

“I don’t care. I’m not asking for anything. All you have to do is give up...”

“No,” she replied with a mutinous smile.

“Really?” he replied. “Do you think you can resist forever?”

“No... But I’m willing to bet you’d last less than I did if my hands were free.”

Joining the gesture to the word, she dragged up her legs that enclosed Jin’s waist. With her left foot, she touched his erection, which startled him.

“I think we can fight on equal terms.”

“I see,” he said, looking down at Iris’s foot resting on the end of his member.

Seokjin tightened his grip on her wrists. His shoulders were at the level of Iris’s eyes, and she did not refrain from admiring the magnificent muscular torso that was offered to her. He leaned over and kissed her. With his free hand, he imprisoned her neck to deepen the kiss. Iris let it happen with delight.

Jin’s hand left her neck, to her greatest despair, to descend on her chest. He caressed Iris’s hardened breasts imperceptibly, and pinched one of her nipples again, snatching a surprised cry from her, but he did not let go of her lips. He continued his torture, feeling her weakening in his arms. He knew it was hardly because of the pain. It didn’t hurt her, otherwise, she would have fought vigorously, but he felt she was giving up... What an easy victory!

Iris, however, did not seem to agree... With her left foot, she began to caress Jin’s erection more skillfully, sometimes using her right foot. When this was not the case, she simply brought him closer to her, imprisoning his waist. She felt him jolt when she managed to slide her right foot between the boxer and his skin and started to lower it.

He stood up and said to her with a falsely sulky pout: “You’re cheating!”

“And you think you’re not cheating by holding my hands?”

“What if I release you?”

“Then you lose.”

“Hum... It’s worth the try, I think.”

He dropped both her wrists. Iris didn’t lose a second. She embraced him passionately and kissed him with a fever. With both hands free, Seokjin took the opportunity to put one behind her neck and press her body against him. He found nothing more intoxicating than to feel her bare chest against the skin of his torso, that chest that he felt vibrate with every of her breath.

The moment his other hand reached the lower of her back, he slipped a finger between Iris’ skin and panties. A tight grasp enveloped her asscheek, making her shudder. However, this lasted only a few seconds before the addictive pressure disappeared, like a mirage.

He brought his hand back to the front, finally coming into contact with her wet lips. Iris groaned slightly and the hands that were imprisoning Seokjin’s neck went down his back.

The man decided they had wasted enough time, and that the fabric bothered him to do what he wanted. Therefore, his hands came back on Iris’s back, lifted her up a little— she helped him — and lowered the last garment down her legs, to drop it to the ground.

Finally...

He stopped kissing her, stood up and looked at her. Iris turned her head, still embarrassed under this observant gaze. She was lost again in her contemplation of the opposite wall of the room. Seokjin saw the redness of her cheeks and smiled. He put his face above her, took the petite chin firmly between his thumb and his right index finger and turned the cute face towards him.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now!” He gasped with a smile.

Iris smiled in return, abandoning herself into his smoky gaze. She whispered: “Sadly, I do give up... It’s too hard to resist you...”

She did seem exhausted. Jin complied. On second thought, no woman had ever resisted him for so long... Most of his conquests had fallen into his arms within minutes, and it had taken Iris several days, weeks!

And even now, counting since he had kissed her, more than an hour had passed. She had probably just broken a record... He stood up to contemplate her, in all her splendor.

God, she was beautiful! She had a perfect body. Her chest was firm, she had a slim waist, a luscious butt, and maybe a little too much hips, but he didn’t care.

Iris was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever welcomed in bed... Seokjin felt a certain pride at this thought, and also to the fact that she had fully accepted his offer. There was something to feel flattered about.

He saw that Iris was fondling his hair.

“It looks like silk,” She murmured, looking at the wick between her thin fingers.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Seokjin says with a wry smile, “but that’s just my hair, baby.”

Iris gave a small laugh and dropped her head on the mattress. With her right foot, she focused again on her lover’s boxer. She could at least still do that... She slipped her foot between the skin and the fabric, and then, with a skillful movement, she brought it down with his help. The boxer laid on the floor a few seconds later. Seokjin approached her, sticking his torso to her chest. His erection rubbed on Iris’s thigh, she felt her breathing accelerate, and the beating of her heart resonated in her chest like the bell of a church.

“Jin...” She murmured, pleading, “Please...” 

The purple-haired shook his head with a mutinous smile.

“Not yet.”

“I want you...” The woman continued.

He lowered his hand to Iris’ crotch. She whined, arching her back, tilting her head towards the ceiling when he pressed against her oh so sensitive piece of flesh. He rolled the bud between his fingers, pinching it slightly, snatching from the girl more and more piercing moans that she could not hold back. She felt the warmth that she had only experienced a few times began to grow in her lower stomach...

Seokjin pressed the bud again and Iris moaned his name, arching her back even more. He felt it, she was about to come, but he was going to frustrate her a little more. He stopped playing with her clit and Iris’s tensed body relaxed a little. The psychiatrist gave him a wrathful look, furious that he had dared to stop so quickly, not giving her what she wanted the most.

“Do you want to frustrate me for the rest of my life?” She scolded.

“I’m sorry but it’s so much more interesting...” he answered with a teasing smile.

How could she resist that smile? How could she stay mad at him?

Seokjin waited for a little, caressing her chest with an expert hand, molding the slightest of her curves, as if he was drawing the silhouette of her body. He stroked her hair, cheeks, eyelids, belly... He dimed that she had waited long enough, but he didn’t want to end it too soon. He still had other cards up his sleeve...

He stroked her lower lips again with his long fingers, before sinking his index finger into her wetness, letting it drag against her fluttering walls. Iris moaned again, louder this time. He felt her she was on the verge of abandoning herself altogether... He knew that she was trying to control herself a little more... He brought in a second finger and began to thrust them in it. Iris seemed tensed, her knuckles were white by dint of gripping the sheet...

Seokjin leaned towards her so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, and she was still biting her lip. Who couldn’t have wanted her? Even her sole honeysuckle perfume was a carnal appeal... He stroked her cheek while continuing the back-and-forth motions of his fingers.

When she felt Jin’s cold hand on her burning cheek, Iris opened her eyes and discovered that he was looking at her with a small smile plastered on the face. She didn’t want to come like this... Not now... Not until she could feel him completely... Suddenly his’s fingers reached a place that his ex had never taken care of to look for. She felt a devastating heat, the electricity passing through all her blood...

“Seok— ! Fuck!” She cried, tilting her head back, mouth ajar and feeling such intense pleasure that she thought she was going to pass out.

The man didn’t lose a second of that moment. She was more beautiful than ever, hypnotized by lust. He had seen her tilt her neck backward as if she had been pulled by her hair. He had to admit that he had been afraid that she would hurt herself, that she would cause torticollis or something else.

But this outburst had been so abrupt, and at the same time so brief that it disappeared quickly. Iris remained arched for a while, as he took off his fingers, before she finally relaxed. She closed her eyes, a sketch of a smile on her face, like a sleeping baby smiling at the angels.

Seokjin passed a hand through her hair, then lowered it down on her still hot cheek. Iris turned her face to this side and laid a kiss on his palm, opening her eyes a little. She stared at him. She stared at his dark irises, his purple hair... She pushed back the strands that fell before his eyes, making him irresistible.

He kept his gaze fixed on the woman’s face. God, she was beautiful... Her cheeks were still red, and her eyes were beginning to regain their coppery color... He saw the abrasion on her lip that she had bitten so violently... He leaned towards her and kissed them with tenderness, sweetness, and passion, as if this simple touch could heal them. Iris surrounded her arms around his neck to hug him. He straightened up and stroked her cheekbone for the umpteenth time.

“You’re amazing.”

Iris’s smile burst brightly, and she threw herself upon him with the energy of the lioness catching her victim. She caught once again the purple-haired’s lips and gave him the most beautiful kiss of the whole evening. He pressed her tightly against him as she stroked his hair, savoring the moment...

She finally parted with him, breathless, as if she had just swum across the Atlantic Ocean. Jin laid her delicately on the bed, positioned himself above her and looked her in the eyes.

She whispered to him: “Fuck me, Seokjin. I’m all yours.” The said-man had never found such phrase so erotic. No doubt it was because it was spoken by the young woman who had stolen his heart.

Placing one of his hands on her hip, the other positioned itself under her neck to kiss her passionately, he penetrated her with a powerful thrust, making her again trash around violently and howl with pleasure.

He began long thrusts, sometimes wild, sometimes slow, making her moan and sigh every time. He had stopped kissing her, so that he could contemplate her at leisure, engrave each of her expressions in his mind and admire her in all her splendor.

He felt her walls contracting around him and knew she was reaching her high soon. Iris captured his lips again as a thundering orgasm crushed her. She screamed his name, as she felt him paint her inside with his cum. He whispered sweet nothing in the hollow of her ear, keeping perfect self-control while fully enjoying the pleasure she had given him.

Iris caught her breath, she felt like she had remained in apnea for hours. Seokjin looked at the girl as if he had never contemplated anything more beautiful, which, in his mind, was true. Iris was the most beautiful of his conquests, the one he had been waiting for so long. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he drew her against his chest, pressing his naked and sweaty body against hers and closed his eyes, lulled in by the woman’s perfume.

The latter – breathless, her gaze fixed on the white ceiling of the room – closed her eyes in an attempt to make her lover of one night believe that Morpheus’s arms had welcomed her.

Fuck.

Now that desire no longer disturbed her mind, she finally realized the disastrous consequences that her previous actions would have.

She was in deep shit.

Iris wanted to slap herself, hoping to perhaps bring some sense in her skull. Why did she do that? Why did she think with her hormones and not with her brain? Just... Why?

Turning gently, not wanting to be noticed so as not to repeat the same scene as earlier, her eyes swept over the man’s face. She held back a cry of joy at the sight of closed eyes and calm breathing. He was asleep.

Perfect.

It was with ease that she pulled herself out of the man’s grip, the latter too exhausted to notice. A shudder ran through her arms when both of her feet touched the cold parquet, but she ignored this detail and proceeded to trod upon it.

Taking her belongings for the second time today, Iris began to walk towards the door. However, she was interrupted by a phone call. Panicked, she rummaged through her purse, trying to silence this cursed object that might be the cause of an embarrassing situation. The woman did not realize that the sound of her movements did it instead. The sudden footsteps did not attract her attention, nor the new person in the living room. It was the man’s throat-clearing that pulled her from her thoughts, snatching a gasp and jolt from her.

She seemed mute. No words were passing the barrier of her lips even if he had entered the room. He had, however, heard her whisper, as he was about to walk through the door to the living room, that she would call someone back. Seokjin didn’t know who or what she was talking about, and to tell you the truth, he didn’t care. His thoughts were rather turned to the short night he had just spend.

It had been several months since he had felt this: this connection with someone. A female face was imprinted a few moments in his thoughts before it disappeared, replaced by the image of the French woman rising from his couch. A bag in her right hand, a key in the other, she seemed in a hurry to leave. He didn’t understand why. Their night and this morning had been pleasant, very pleasant, and they had chatted for long minutes after their midnight frolics. With only a few words, he had been subjugated by her. This woman had a natural presence in her words, in her gestures.

“Listen, Mr. Kim...”

“Jin,” he cut her off.

She royally ignored him, staring at the front door as if this object represented her only way to escape. It was.

Why was she reacting like that?

“Seokjin, Jin... Same thing... Look, it was cool, but I need to go.” From the tip of her thumb, she pointed the door over her left shoulder. “Sorry, but we’re waiting for me.”

Impotent, he watched her turn her heels and almost run towards the door.

“Wait!”

She turned, her eyes avoiding his, the knuckles of her fingers noticeably whitening as she held her bag’s strap firmly. Nevertheless, the woman calmly asked him what was going on. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was reacting like that. Maybe it was because he thought she was beautiful and interesting? Perhaps it was because her words had charmed him? Whatever the reasons for his intervention, the only thing Seokjin knew was that he wanted to see that woman again, get to know her outside of their working hours.

“Do you... Do you maybe... Hum... Maybe want to do it again?”

And now he was stuttering like a prepubescent teenager in need.

Pull yourself together, Jin!

The man took a deep breath, willfully ignoring the bewildered gaze of his colleague who did not and could not understand his reaction. She must have thought he was an idiot.

“Listen, I’ll leave you to your yoga. I’m going. And I’m sorry, but I’d rather keep our relationship purely professional. That night and this morning were a mistake.”

Without a word, she turned around. He looked at her, hurt, astonished by her answer. His heart seemed to tighten so hard in his chest that he had to press it with his palm to try to ease it. The woman’s cadence waned. With her hand on the handle, she hesitated and finally pronounced: “See you at work, Dr. Kim.”

The noise of a door being slammed echoed in the room. His face fell, abandoning his falsely joyful air. He soon got a grip on himself, however, and walked to the bathroom. Entering, he got rid of any fabric before allowing himself to be covered with water from head to toe. With his forehead on the shower wall, eyes closed, his brain couldn’t help but replay the previous images in a loop. The brunette’s body was inked in his pupil, almost haunting him. With a sudden gesture, he turned the tap completely to the left. The water that rained over him becoming icy. Only this option seemed capable of calming the fire that was beginning to crackle in his lower abdomen.

일곱.

“Stop biting your nails, it’s pissing me off.”

Iris was obliged to comply with this order, not wanting to annoy her friend, Yeonjun, anymore. The latter was not of a very old age, he must have only been in his early twenties. His short, smooth hair often fell in front of his black eyes. He was tall but not to excess, one-eighty meters at most. His fine features and sparkling gaze could lure anyone into his web, trapping them in a fever dream. He kept repeating that he had more testosterone than any man on his street would ever have, but they all knew, him included, that the young man could not hurt a fly. His intentions were pure. His main purpose in life seemed to make his friends happy.

She had been the one who had introduced Yeonjun into their group of friends. They had met one evening in winter. The flakes had covered the sidewalks and benches. Seoul was wearing a white coat that fitted it so well. The streetlights gave the city a supernatural, subdued appearance that always warmed her heart. It had been a year since she had left France. The habits which she had grown up with did not seem in a hurry to leave her brain. That’s why she had walked around that night, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, as she had been so used to do in the illuminated streets of Paris.

As a nearby church had rang the twelve strokes of midnight, her gaze had landed on a man looking on the brink of explosion. The Yeonjun she had met that night was the exact opposite of the one sitting at that coffee table. For a while, she had thought he’d try to do something stupid. They had been in the middle of winter, the street empty, the edges of the Han River few dozen yards away. The expression on his face had haunted her. She had talked to him, tried to make him smile. And she had managed to do it, just as she still managed to make him smile for more than four years now.

However, despite all these fine words, she only needed one adjective to describe him right now: execrable. It must have been more than a quarter of an hour that he was mumbling, reproaching her for having cowardly abandoned him to go, quote, “fuck with the Dom Juan of yesterday.” He was telling the truth, she couldn’t deny it. The traces on her neck were irrefutable evidence.

“How dare you abandon me? Me, your best friend! The one who’s been supporting you since we met! The one who holds your hair when you throw up!”

She looked up at the sky, praying whatever god who was listening to make him stop. The theatricality emanating from this man’s body was matched only by the one of Molière. It was common to see him take a mirror out of his pocket and whisper some tragic words, as he was doing now, under Rosé’s bored gaze.

“I hope he fucked you on all the furniture in his apartment. May your betrayal at least be justifiable.”

He turned to her, an eyebrow raised, his mirror forgotten on the table next to his tea. A little smirk took place on his face. It didn’t bode well. The words he uttered confirmed her theory.

“Oh yes, Doctor Kim! Fuck... Harder!”

“Shut the fuck up!” She shouted, feeling the tip of her ears flushing.

“Did you really think you could hide from me the fact that you slept with your boss?” He clicked his tongue against his palate when she nodded. “Amateur...”

She growled, dropping her head miserably on the table under the laughter of her two friends.

Yes, she had naively thought she could keep the identity of her one-night stand quiet. There was no interest in her revealing the man’s first name. She did not want to appear as a girl wanting to have sex out of interest. They were her friends, those whom she trusted the most. Certainly. However, it was proper to the humankind to judge others, Michel de Montaigne had said it magnificently in his Essays.

“Wait... what?! Did you sleep with Purple?!”

Jimin’s screams caused the head turns of several regulars. Very nice septuagenarians, of course, but the woman did not need them to know anything about her sex life.

“Say it even louder, I think the restaurant across the street didn’t hear you.”

“On the other hand, I’m sure the neighbor heard you last night,” Yeonjun retorted.

Her eyes would eventually come out of their orbits one day by dint of rolling them. A little laugh escaped from her mouth nevertheless, accustomed to this kind of phrases on the part of the blue-haired man.

“Bite me, and to answer your questions... I had a blast.” The group’s insistent glances did not make her give in. “That’s all I’m telling you.”

“At least answer that...” Jimin laid both elbows on the table, strongly resembling a politician.

The silence became heavy. They were three to wait for the end of his sentence. She was almost certain one of the two elderly people had straightened up to hear better.

His gaze did not move, it remained fixed on her face, analyzing each of her features, looking for the slightest flaw that would allow him to attack. She saw him like a lion, ready to pounce on the antelope to revel in it. The only difference being that Jimin would, instead, revel in the information she would communicate to him. The suspense was at its pinnacle. She did not diverge her gaze towards Yeonjun who, she perfectly knew, was holding his heart, an expression horror painted on the face.

“Is the famous Kim Seokjin well-hung?”

Rosé choked on her cake, spitting it on the table, covering the latter and the floor with crumbs. Yeonjun recoiled on his chair until it held on two feet, tilting his head back, letting out a laugh that resounded in the whole café. Iris, among this chaos, remained neutral, taking his question very seriously. There was no point in lying to him, they had known each other for several years now, he would definitely know in the second if her answer was a lie. She pouted, fiddling her lower lip with her fingertips, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Quickly, she compared in her head the different sizes she had witnessed.

She shrugged.

“I’ve seen better, but he knows how to use it.”

Her response and the shocked expression of the dancer made Yeonjun’s hilarity intensifying. Rosé soon joined him. Their faces were red, a large vein was coming out on their foreheads and necks, they were curled upon themselves as if they were battling stomach cramps.

What a great sight.

“The myth is collapsing...” Jimin managed to mumble this sentence between two grimaces filled with disappointment.

“The myth,” Yeonjun spoke in a high-pitched voice, playing with a strand of hair around his index finger. He accompanied the two words of quotation marks made with his fingers. He would never respect him. “Seriously, Jimin... He’s her boss, not a Greek god.”

“He’s not a god but he’s still handsome. I saw the pictures.”

“True.”

A glance at the clock made her widen her eyes.

Fuck.

The hospital.

Seokjin and she had agreed that the first session with Jeon Jungkook would take place today at 4:30 p.m. It was four o'clock and, in the meantime, she had to reach the workplace which, of course, was at the opposite of her current position.

Her lips were soon pulled down in a pout. She was not long in announcing her departure to her friends who hastened to ask the reason for it. She explained the situation. To this, the three began to protest. Nothing surprising.

“Stay a little, there’s no rush!”

“If you want, I’ll drop you off!”

“Don’t go. Who works in 2019, anyway? If you get fired, just start a YouTube channel.”

The last remark made her laugh, but she did not give in to their complaints.

“It’s okay, there’s a subway station nearby.”

Bag laid on her shoulder, she bent down to hug her three friends before going out, not without one last glance at the two old persons who murdered her with their eyes. They had definitely heard the conversation.

Great.

She hurried out, ignoring the sound of the bell fixed above the door. The routine, that was one of her journeys, began.

Walk.

Turn.

Cross.

Walk.

Metro.

Get off at the sixth station.

Walk.

Ouch.

A simple lapse in concentration can sometimes do great damage.

The characteristic cold of October had long since enveloped her body, so much so that tightening her cloak around her as a vain protection no longer had any effect. Iris had risked a simple glance at the watch on her wrist, counting the minutes she had left to reach Seokjin on time.

A simple divergence of attention, and suddenly, pain.

The feeling of being winded caused her to take several steps back under the surprise, but especially because of the pain that was pervading her chest. Her steps were deviated from their trajectory and without her being able to hold onto anything, her body suddenly came into contact with the ground.

Her handbag let slip its contents all around her, like the halo of an angel. She remained helpless in front of the scene, watching from the corner of her eye her lip balm rolling down the road.

Not very hygienic.

Her body, however, jolted when a masculine hand entered her field of vision. She raised an eyebrow, contemplating her few possibilities before letting her gaze rise to the face of the charitable soul. A smiling boy was looking back at her.

“I'm sorry, it's my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going,” he said, in a soft tone.

“It’s alright, I wasn't looking where I was going either,” she laughed, before looking at her scattered belongings, it was however something else that caught her attention. “My God! Your camera! I'm sorry, I hope it's not broken! Really, I’m- Oh...” Her words died down in her throat, silence overtaking her.

On the camera’s screen, which she had been quick to check on— she really didn't want to have to pay for any repairs — was a frozen image of her side profile. Unable to help herself, her curiosity increasing and an uncomfortable feeling settling in, making her shiver, her thumb pressed the buttons, scrolling through the shots taken before.

Pictures of her, from her exit from the subway entrance to now.

“Ah, that. Sorry. I usually take pictures of passers-by. I think that capturing everyday life gives the best pictures. Everything is natural, the beauty is raw, you know?”

"Right, I see! Haha...” She laughed, but no joy warmed her tone. “Well, I'll go now. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Iris did not wait for the answer of this strange interlocutor, simply making her way back to work.

She couldn’t help but walk faster, checking behind to see if she wasn’t followed.

It was when the hands of the reception desk’s gigantic clock indicated 4:20 p.m. that Iris rammed into Seokjin’s office, breathless and stressed out.

They had not spoken again, or even glimpsed at each other since the accident after that way too much alcoholic night. The woman could not bring herself to look at her superior in the eyes, the memories of their embraces anchored in her brain. Every minute of her life was now consumed by remorse. She should never have given in.

If Seokjin, for whatever reason, decided to share information about their intimate relationship with someone working here, that would be the end for her. The Seoul Psychiatric Hospital was a veritable anthill. She had realized that just a few days after arriving. The establishment was teeming with people. The rumors spread in just a few seconds, reaching the ears of those who kept them open, grasping for drama.

If whispers about her relationship with the head of her department were to happen, the woman would deny everything to saving her job, her dignity, her reputation in the community. But she knew they would not believe her. Why would they? It would be her word, that of a woman, against that of Seokjin, a man. She had no doubt that Im Minho would fire her without hesitation.

Therefore, she had made the decision that it was best for her to ignore him as much as possible.

For years now, the young woman had been reproached by her friends for her reactions. It was true that the French gave great importance to her reputation, to the point of hurting people without realizing it. Recurrent scenes of violent arguments with people she had never wanted to spend time with again. Her situation with Seokjin was no different. This time, she was fully aware of her overreaction and knew very well what form their relationship would evolve in: they would only speak if the conversation was relevant to the professional setting. There was no way she was going to lose her job for a man with stupid dyed hair.

Sighing, closing her eyes, not wanting to face reality, she reluctantly stepped towards him. The only thing she needed from him was his authorization to leave together for the thirtieth cell on the ninth floor. The adrenaline was already running through her veins, excited to be able to converse, or at least watch, the very famous Jeon Jungkook.

After all, it wasn’t every day that psychiatrists had the great opportunity to consider one of the greatest serial killers as their patient. Iris Poquelin, unlike them, had been lucky. There was no way she was wasting it for an unimportant and rather sappy story.

“Please, sit down.”

“I’d rather stay up, but thanks.”

He twitched from the dry tone she was using but said nothing. He merely sighed and shook his head, overwhelmed by events. Why was she suddenly rude to him? So defensive?

“Here’s the patient’s file.”

The brunette hurried to take it, unaware of how their hands had brushed, and leafed through it. Never before had she seen such a thick folder. The research was scientific. Notes transcribed in almost illegible handwriting covered every page, every back of photos. The grimace she wanted to hold back finally appeared on her face when she reached the section concerning the murders he had presumably committed. These events had been painstakingly detailed in order to facilitate the search of the police and doctors. It was not these long paragraphs that generated her reaction, her favorite kind of books were detective novel, but rather the photos taped to the top of each page.

Ugh.

Blood. Everywhere.

Without any ceremony, the psychiatrist closed the file, trying to forget those images that now seemed forever anchored in the brain’s part in charge of the memory: the temporal lobe.

“Iris.”

Raising her head, wide-eyed, the woman stared at the gentle stare of the man. Why was he looking at her that way? They were nothing, neither lovers nor friends, just two people who gave in to carnal pleasure. Nothing more. This tender look had no place here, in this white office. Thus, she ignored him, contenting herself with a little affirmative noise in order to prove to him that she was listening.

“I want to know if you still agree to assist me?” Seeing her interrogative gaze, he explained the sense of his question. “Jeon Jungkook is different from all the patients you’ve seen. He’s more violent, more unpredictable, more everything. I would understand if you decided to give up for now. I’d rather you tell me now. There’s no way you’re going to walk into this room if you’re afraid of him. I don’t want you to come out traumatized.”

In the middle of his tirade, he had stood up to stand in front of her. Frowning, exasperated to know that the man did not think she was psychologically capable of contending with this patient, she did not realize the hand that had been delicately placed on her lower back. It was only when he began comforting back-and-forth movements with his thumb that the woman noticed the gesture. With three steps backward, she backed away and pressed the patient 309’s file against her chest, the folder acting as a wall to create a chasm between them.

“I think I’m perfectly capable of managing myself emotionally. Thank you for your concern. Besides, I’m only here to take notes. I doubt it is as dangerous for me as you make it out. I’ll not be the target of his attacks if anything happens. After all, I’ll not be the one asking questions.”

“True, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. Patient 309 is not Beomgyu, the adorable teenager. It’s Jungkook, the serial killer.” He retorted, talking to her as someone would have done to a young child.

Who did he think she was? An ignorant person? Either way, he definitely thought she was stupid.

Iris knew very well the risks she would expose herself to when she would enter this room. She was not an idiot. For at least three years, her teachers had kept repeating the danger that represented highly unstable patients. Many times, she had been graded on her abilities in dealing with risky situations during situational exercises. Hell, a teacher had even advised them to take self-defense classes. Iris felt perfectly capable of handling a situation like this.

“And I’m perfectly aware of that.” She retorted, her jaw clenched. This conversation was beginning to seriously frustrate her. “Listen, Mr. Kim, if you don’t think I can help you, ask someone else.”

And there she goes now, beginning to say foolish things due to anger: the young woman would never give way to another person. She shook her head, trying to regain control. Without a word, for fear of saying things she would eventually regret, Iris turned around and walked to the door ready to face this dangerous criminal.

The atmosphere remained heavy as they walked in the white corridors of the hospital. Her eyes fixed every plant, every frame hanging on the wall, every little paint defect, all to avoid meeting the brown gaze of the man who was walking by her side. The discomfort that could be felt between them was such that a person passing by them would end up embarrassed as well. This discomfort reached its climax when the elevator doors closed on them. Looking at the figures on the screen going up, Iris could not help breaking the silence, her unhealthy curiosity taking over the rest.

“I was never told why there are nine floors.”

Her question was for a long time unanswered, she even abandoned the idea of being able to get a reply. However, Seokjin, unable to resist for long to the large, puppy eyes he felt on the side of his face, resigned himself to providing her with an explanation.

“Patients are classified by the severity of their reason for their coming. The higher you go, the more severe the cases become.”

“So, since Beomgyu is on floor number three...”

“His condition is not without gravity, but it does not represent an imminent danger to us.” He nodded, glad he was understood. “The opposite of Jeon Jungkook. Floor number nine is a special case, though. This is the floor used to isolate patients. Jeon is a danger to us, to other patients and to himself. Look, it’s right here.”

With the tip of his pale finger, he pointed to a door. One glance at the latter was enough to understand the level of isolation that patients on the ninth floor were putting through. The rectangular block was made of dark metal, completely changing from the white doors to which she had been accustomed. The locks were superimposed. A whole set of keys had to be dedicated to this sole door. What attracted her attention the most though was the presence of two imposing guards on either side of the entrance. The woman recognized one of them as the one who gave the alert for Dr. Lee.

Well.

A drop of sweat beaded on her forehead, now understanding the gravity of the situation. If a lump in her throat formed when Seokjin asked for the door to be unlocked, she showed nothing but determination. Her thirst for knowledge often led her to do things she would later regret, against her desires and principles. She was now realizing it as the two psychiatrists entered the small room.

The man trapped between four walls looked with a dreary eye at the cracks drawing a gigantic maze on the ceiling. Boredom had invaded his whole being. He had nothing to do, just his imagination for distraction. When night fell, the world of dreams would open its doors to him. In this ocean of fantasies, his mind would sail on a single subject for some time.

Hazel eyes, a melodious voice, a blinding smile. She was the only distraction from his mind keeping him from sinking into complete madness.

Iris Poquelin had invaded his body and soul. Every night, he imagined himself touching with his mouth the delicate skin of her breasts, which he knew were firm and round, he imagined himself grazing her swollen lips with the pulp of his fingers. Teeth sunk in his lip, his eyes closed, his hand began to ramble down his body...

“Jeon?”

A sense of déjà-vu. A series of questions. Several blows. The image of Dr. Lee’s bloodied head.

His vision, reddened by blood, hatred, and envy, became clearer when the newcomers appeared in front of him.

He first noticed Kim Seokjin. As always, dressed in his eternal hideous white blouse, his dead-looking purple hair brought to the back of his head, he did not change. Seeing him always caused Jungkook an unpleasant feeling. The latter was going to tell him to leave, not in the mood to converse with this man, his mind still befuddled by the image of the naked woman. His words, however, remained stuck in his throat when she appeared.

The source of his dreams but also nightmares.

Twenty-two days and thirteen hours. This was the exact length of time since they met, since the last time he saw her. Each Wednesday, the patient was the first to reach the park in order to be able to lay his eyes on this work of art that was the psychiatrist.

This did not happen, much to the despondent of Patient 309 and the people in charge of him.

As the days passed, his condition had significantly deteriorated. He no longer ate, became more violent than he had ever been. Many nurses asked for new patients in fear of ending up like Dr. Lee. Indelible dark circles dug his face even more than he already was. A few times, a guard had forced the door of the thirtieth cell after hearing loud and repetitive noises.

The spectacle he had discovered shocked him so much that even nowadays, the scene was displayed before his eyes every night. Imagine a man, in a dark, dusty room, smashing his skull against the base of his bed until blood would start to drip, repeating one word: Iris.

For the first time in twenty-two days and thirteen hours, ever since his arrival at the hospital, Jungkook began to smile. His eyes fixed on the woman’s mouth caught the latter’s attention. She gave him a smile, tenser than the one she had addressed to him in the park. He wondered the reason for this restraint. Wasn’t she happy to see him? Or maybe it was the blood streaming down his forehead that bothered her? It must have been that. The hazel eyes kept alternating between this part of his face and his eyes. It was her fault, though. It was because she had left him alone that he had mutilated himself. If only she had stayed with him, nothing would’ve happen.

“Mr. Jeon, can we please sit down?”

He nodded to Seokjin’s words without really understanding what was being asked. Thus, they settled down, the two psychiatrists next to each other, the man taking up more space than the woman. The patient became frustrated, rage slowly spreading in his heart, when he noticed this. Mrs. Poquelin’s belongings were almost piled up on a single line to make room for those of the asshole. The latter had spread the folder on the table, extracting a few precise papers of it, while the brunette had been forced to stall her notepad on her lap, for lack of space. She didn’t seem bothered by this situation, but Jungkook was. His attention quickly diverted back to the man.

“Mr. Jeon, I would like us to discuss your presence in this hospital. Why do you think you’re here?”

Silence.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The sound of a pen rubbing against the paper.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it means that you are aware of it but that you are deliberately not mentioning the truth.” Jin retorted, speaking in the most neutral tone possible. “It’s already a good start, you could have told me that you didn’t know. Next, do you regret your past actions?”

Silence.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The sound of a pen rubbing against the paper.

The session went that way. To each question, he answered — a masterstroke given the fact that he had not opened his mouth once in front of Dr. Lee — to say nothing. His speech was empty of content, the notes taken by Iris all seemed to look the same. As she was about to write this damned sentence for the umpteenth time, an obvious sign of the patient’s refusal to cooperate, a detail prevented her from doing so.

“Fuck!”

Iris’ black pen escaped her hands. It rolled on the ground, the sound resonating in the now silent room. Its trajectory was followed by the eyes of the three people present until it came to rest a few centimeters away from Jungkook’s feet. Her chair scraped against the floor when she got up. The psychiatrist knelt down and then reached out for the pen, hoping to grab it. It was, however, a masculine hand that held the object out to her.

Jungkook’s hand.

Iris swallowed, her unstable pupils came into contact with those, dilated, of the brown- haired man.

Seokjin, who had previously watched the scene unfold in silence as if attending the broadcast of a film, became tense. If her colleague made only one mistake, she could trigger a violent reaction of the patient.

Discreetly, not wanting to interrupt the contact started — it would disturb the unstable patient and thus worsen the situation — he grabbed the syringe made available to him. Of course, his intentions were not to jab Jeon Jungkook’s neck, but he preferred to remain cautious, especially when he knew what the man facing them was capable of.

When the patient got up, he did the same, ready to pounce. Despite the noise produced by Kim, Jungkook did not bat an eyelid for a moment, his attention still fixed on Iris. The doctor, noticing the strangeness of this reaction, caught one of his pens, with his other hand for he was still holding the syringe, to note what was happening before him.

Soon, one hand wrapped itself around another, this one feminine, trembling and delicate.

Jungkook’s gaze swept over the woman’s body, appreciating its forms and the vision of seeing her kneeling before him. In an instant, an indecent image blossomed in his mind. He closed his eyes, focusing on the current situation. When he reopened them, his eyes naturally fell on her shirt collar, undone because of all her gestures.

One... two... Three pink spots were decorating the tanned skin from the base of her neck to the back of her left ear.

Fading hickeys.

His grip tightened on her hand, it was a miracle it did not break in an instant.

Using all his strength, he pulled her towards him. Anger hitherto slowly brewing began to flow in his blood, animating his whole body. Iris cried in surprise, her eyes wide open. She had to lean on the patient’s torso so as not to collapse on him. Shocked by the suddenness and brutality of the gesture, Jeon Jungkook’s erratic breathing and his expression of pure pleasure went unnoticed by the Frenchwoman.

This was not the case for her colleague.

Too focused on returning to her place, she did not feel fingers brushing her entire back to land briefly on one of her buttocks.

This was not the case for her colleague.

The several pages of notes taken by Seokjin on this interaction were voluntarily not added to the file. When the two psychiatrists came out — one disturbed by the events he had just suffered, the other frowning — they parted ways before going in two opposite directions. Iris went down to the second floor for her session with her depressive patient, Park Hana, while Seokjin headed for her office, several folded papers sticking out from the pocket of his coat.

여덟.

CHANGE OF SCHEDULE

Dear POQUELIN Iris,

You are receiving this message as a reminder of the upcoming solo session with PATIENT 309 – JEON JUNGKOOK scheduled for November 14, 2019, due to SEOKJIN’s sick leave. Please find attached an updated file for your session. In addition, please also find attached the originally distributed sessions schedule, which outlines the meeting time and location.

At the end of this week, SPHSK will send you additional documents, which summarize SEOKJIN’s comments on the PATIENT 309 and the topics needed to be discussed during the session. It is hoped that these materials will help you follow the process.

Standing in front of the thirtieth cell on the ninth floor, she had been reading the message for several minutes now. Her mouth was gaping, her eyes wide open. The woman couldn’t believe it.

She — and no one else — was asked to take over for the sessions with Jeon Jungkook. The Jeon Jungkook. The one everyone was afraid of. The one who captivated her.

It was not uncommon to see nurses caring for ninth-floor patients talking to each other about him. The whispers suggested that he was violent, that he kept screaming, struggling against them. All avoided making him angry, preferring to keep their eyes down, never turning their backs on him. The employees treated him like a dangerous animal. He may have acted like one to some extent, but he was still a human. Despite all the mistakes made in the past, he deserved repentance, he deserved to be treated as an equal. This was what Iris was trying to do.

A smile when she would catch sight of him in the gardens with Beomgyu, a word of encouragement when she would arrive in his cell before Seokjin. It didn’t cost anything, so why not? Little things like this could embellish a day, even more for those who seemed trapped in a world of shadow by their own demons. He seemed happy, only that mattered.

These little gestures were negligible, but he seemed to appreciate them more than anything. The smiles he would give her in those moments were well worth all the dangers she was putting herself in.

However, only few people liked to see her venture into cell 30-9. Everyone looked at her with disgust, some avoided her in the cafeteria, others simply stopped approaching her. Her. The only psychiatrist crazy enough to show anything other than hatred for Jeon Jungkook, The Man with the Blades.

You had to be seriously disturbed not to see the monster that he was, the insults he shouted, the blows he inflicted, at those who dared to touch him, who did not yield to his whims.

Caprices taking the form of only one name: Iris.

His obsession.

Not a day passed without this name, originally pretty but whose sounds seemed morbid nowadays, falling from his lips.

A name that everyone who cared for the patient knew. It inspired nothing but fear, fear of seeing their colleague disappear, but also and above all – as unethical as it may be –relief. The relief of not being the one trapped in the killer's net.

That is why as many people had forbidden her to show such a revolting thing as kindness, Seokjin was the first to remind her about it.

Lately, the doctor seemed to be fixating on her attitude towards this patient. Iris didn’t understand. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. On the contrary. Wasn’t that one of the first lessons they were taught? Gaining the patient’s trust? In addition to the professional reasons for doing this, the woman felt real satisfaction when she would see her patient’s eyes twinkling a little more after her tender gestures. She was happy to know that thanks to her, he could forget a little bit the fact that he was locked up here.

“Jungkook?”

There was very little light in the room, but she had no trouble spotting the man who seemed to have stood up in a hurry. Almost running, he approached her so close that her eyes could admire every detail of his face. They diverged for a few seconds on his pink lips, but she resumed soon, coughing.

Despite all the actions he had committed, all more horrific than the others, the ugliness of his soul could not take precedence over the beauty of his physique. His features were harmonious and almost mesmerizing. However, her attention was once again diverted when she felt a body crashing into hers. With her arms dangling, her eyes ready to come out of their eye sockets, Iris was trying to figure out what was going on. His arms were around the psychiatrist’s waist, his hair tickling her neck after nuzzling his head in it.

Jungkook was embracing her.

In an instant she lowered her guard, her gaze softening. Her lips stretched out in a smile that did not weaken. He trusted her, enough to touch her. No one could boast of having even grazed Jeon Jungkook’s skin. He gave only blows, not signs of affection. Iris couldn’t help but feel flattered. She wrapped her own arms on the more imposing body of the man. Her fingers began small caresses, as light as the passage of a feather, on his back. He shuddered.

Jeon Jungkook thought he had landed in heaven. He could finally know what the sensation of the psychiatrist’s body against his felt like. Everything he had previously imagined was nothing in comparison to the reality of the thing.

With his eyes closed, his eyelashes brushing the soft skin of the woman’s neck; his senses were troubled. He inspired, letting the honeysuckle scent misting his brain. His vision was blurring. He could only hear the sound of her pulse, wanted to taste her flesh, to imprison her neck with his hands. As discreetly as possible, the man began to move his pelvis against the woman who did not realize anything. His eyes rolled back, the pleasure flowing at great intensity towards his bulge, which kept growing. One of his hands was about to go down to her buttocks to press her body against his, but he was interrupted when a great void was felt.

She had just separated herself from him, picking up the file that had fallen during their hug. At the sight of this mountain of paper, Jungkook’s eyes darkened. She had not come to see him because she wanted to. She had been obliged. His fists clenched, so strongly that his nails caused a few drops of blood to fall from his palms. His breathing accelerated, his vision tinging in red.

Then, Iris smiled at him, and everything went back to normal, as if she had just cast a spell on him. She saw his eyes tingling, a smile taking place on his face. Satisfied with the fact that he was joyful, she sat down on the chair. It was better for him to be happy since today’s session dealt with a delicate subject that Seokjin had never wanted to address.

The aggression of April 24, 2004.

No one really knew what had happened that day. The patient’s records did not indicate anything about this. The only thing the doctors were sure of was that this day had been decisive in Jeon Jungkook’s psychological change. It had been the small wave triggering the tsunami. In fact, they only had hypothesizes about the perpetrator of this attack, because everyone with access to this file knew what had happened. The city’s archives had been consulted.

In a daily newspaper, the news section reported that a little boy named Jungkook had been found severely beaten. There were no attached photos, but it was not hard to imagine the bruised, bloody face of a child who had lost his innocence. Iris wanted to understand, almost to the point of turning this into an obsession.

Driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, a desire to help even if she had to get lost in madness for it, had turned the psychiatrist into an obsessed woman, almost as much as her patient, without her knowing it.

The two souls were more similar than one could imagine. Society had simply assigned them two different roles: one as a doctor, the other a killer. Their brains, however, worked the same. Not even their doctor-patient relationship could change that. One had a strong hold on the other, and vice versa. The only difference was in their need for the other, caused by two opposite reasons.

Knowledge for the woman. Love for the man.  

Iris, as always determined to know the truth about Jeon, straightened her back. It was with the softest voice she could do that she asked the question.

What happened on April 24, 2004?

She saw him twitch. She expected it. Quickly, her hand came to wrap his to comfort him. Reviving past events was always tricky, and this for anyone, it was all the more so when the said memories were automatically associated with hatred and pain.

“Breathe. Take your time.”

That was what he did. With his eyes fixed on his psychiatrist’s face, he cloned his breath on her own.

“I... I remember almost nothing.” He began. “A woman, with whom my mother used to drink every night... I think it was because of this... There were a lot of bottles on the floor. She... She dragged me to my room. I don’t... I don’t know why. That’s the only thing I remember... In the morning... I- I was alone. I think? There was no one... Not even my mother. The lady was gone but I was in pain. So much pain… It hurt everywhere... Especially my legs, my crotch, and my face. after... I don’t... I just woke up in the hospital.”

Iris blinked, the pen hanging above her notebook. Only one conclusion seemed plausible, but she did not wish to confess it to him just now. Talking about what had happened already required a considerable mental effort for the man, she did not wish to disturb him even more with her analyses.

“Do you think this assault can explain why your victims are mostly women?”

“I... I don’t know...”

She quickly wrote down something.

“Do you think that one day you will be able to trust a woman? Even after all of that?”

Their eyes met, his pupils were dilated.

“Yes. I’m sure of that.”

“I’m really proud of you,” she had said during one of their sessions. Their own sessions, with no one to interrupt. No more Asshole, just him and her, as it was supposed to be.  

Instead of his usual psychiatrist — fucking asshole — was now sitting in front of him Iris Poquelin, the woman who animated his heart.

Seokjin had returned in full form from his sick leave which had lasted several weeks. Fucking flu, he had said. Even the doctors could get sick, and assigning his patients to others had been difficult for the man. Coming back was all the more confusing because each of them had made progress, leaving him no choice but to transfer some patients to other psychiatrists, as bonds of trust had formed.

Iris had been delightful, thanking heaven for having led Jeon Jungkook on her way.

He was the most interesting patient she had had the opportunity to study. The man seemed so determined to get better, at least when she was the one leading the sessions, that Iris had begged the hospital director to transfer the 30-9 file to her database. Something that had been granted to her, to the great misfortune of Seokjin, who had since then constantly tormented her, grating many lies about Jungkook.

Seokjin was just jealous, there was no other explanation. Jealous that the patient spoke more when she was the one sitting in front of him. Jealous that she was not the incompetent little psychiatrist he had believed.

No one can understand Jungkook like I do, the woman had retorted, annoyed to see that after all this time, he still did not trust her.

And it was true. 

The bond she had managed to create with Jeon Jungkook was so strong that only the presence of the man managed to warm her heart. He only trusted her. She was the only one who didn't see him as a monster. They talked to each other, understood each other, and seeing him so vulnerable during their sessions broke her heart and gave her only one desire: to take him in her arms, which she would do. Always. 

As unreasonable as it may seem, Iris only really felt safe when his arms surrounded her body, protecting her from the accusations of her colleagues, from the concerns of her friends. Jungkook understood her, the only one to do so.

Sometimes she would find herself trying to say three words, three words that he whispered when she would his cell, when night would take control, when his dreams would paint wonders. As delicious as these three little words may sound, she could not say them, so she simply complimented him, hoping to convey in these kind words those she could not articulate. 

아홉.

“Good morning, Jungkook!”

“Good morning, Noona! How are you? Did you sleep well? You know, I dreamed of you last night. We were living in this house and you were wearing this pretty dress and you had that smile on your face! Ah... I’ve never sleep that well. It’s because of you, Noona. I hope you know that!”

“Why don’t you talk to Dr. Kim, sweetheart? Why do you only talk to me? I’m not against it, it’s the opposite. I like to know that you are comfortable enough with me to do it. But... I’m just the assistant Jungkook. I’m just writing what is being said. You need to talk to him. Not to me.”

“It’s not my fault that I prefer you, Noona...”

“I understand, but at least try, okay?”

“No.”

“I am glad you’re finally eating normally again. Look at your cute chubby cheeks! And look at those muscles! Does someone have a crush?”

“Stop... It’s not that! But... Is it true? Do you prefer me like that, Noona?”

“Jungkook... I only want you to be fine with yourself, and seeing you so healthy is such… Ah, I’m just really happy right now. You know? You’re making me happy by taking care of yourself. You’re doing so good lately, I’m sure you will heal.”

“You make me happy too, Noona…”

“I’ll always be there for you, Jungkook. I hope that one day you will be able to tell me everything that weighs on your heart. It’s my job to take care of you. I hope you know that, Jungkook. If there’s anything, just ask me. I’ll always help you, no matter what. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Noona. Thank you.”

I love you so much, he had wanted to say, and he wasn’t the only one...

열.

The month of January had brought with it the fresh air that characterized it. However, this did not prevent the patients from hanging out even if it meant having to face the cold of the park. Most of the benches were frozen, but with the jackets and lined pants provided by the hospital, they hardly noticed it, and even if they did, they would not give up their only moment of freedom.

Slumped on one of these benches, Jungkook and Beomgyu were hardly speaking, the youngest being busy reading the book his psychiatrist had given him. It had become a kind of tradition between them. The woman would tell him about her favorite books and Beomgyu would confess that he had never read them. So, to remedy this, because she was indignant that her patient had never read or at least heard of Percy Jackson, she was doing everything in her power to pass on the books to him without management knowing. They were not normally allowed to give anything to patients. But how could she resist? There was nothing more adorable than seeing Beomgyu’s gaze light up as he unwrapped his gift.

“What are you reading?” Jungkook’s words were accompanied by smoke coming out of his mouth. It was very cold.

“Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. Ms. Poquelin gifted it to me.”

Jungkook giggled a little when he heard the first name of the psychiatrist they shared. In his head quickly showed up the young woman’s brown hair, soft lips, and hazel eyes. A smile, discreet but present, appeared on the face of the man at this thought.

“Why are you smiling?”

“For no reason.”

The silence fell again between them. Their conversations often took place in this way. The words they exchanged were rare, but that did not mean that they did not appreciate the presence of the other. Quite the opposite, this moment of calm differed from the ongoing frenzy of the hospital. When they were together meant being able to relax, not having to worry about what they would have to face in between these walls. After observing the dark sky for a few moments, the eyes of the oldest flew over the object that Beomgyu held in his hands.

Unconsciously, he clenched his fists.

Never in the course of their sessions had the woman given him a present. She almost never talked about herself with him. Conversations always revolved around him, about what and why he had done his past actions. Maybe she preferred Beomgyu to him? No, it was not possible. She said hello to him almost every day. She was smiling at him. She had let him dry-hump her. She hugged him. Those were solid proof of her love. He was sure that if he had been keener, she would have let him fuck her and would have even taken pleasure.

The look she gave him was always filled with kindness, generosity, love for him. There was no way she could hate him. He had been nothing but adorable to her. Last week, when she was alone in managing the session, she had not judged him once. She understood him. She loved him.

Iris loved him. She had to be. She must have loved him at least as much as he loved her. He would be willing to sacrifice everything for her, everything, including his own life. He was sure that she knew, and that she would do the same for him. There was no other option.

He would have liked to know everything about her, to be able to chat with her until the sun went down but every time he thought of opening his mouth to make this dream come true, Seokjin interrupted him.

Oh, how he hated that fucker.

If he could, he’d stick a knife between his eyes. But, he couldn’t. Sadly. It would scare Iris and she would refuse to take care of him. He could not risk that. No. Impossible. Living without her would be Hell. In such a short time, Iris had made him happier than he had ever been in his life. He preferred the feeling of seeing her smile to the feeling of killing. For him, who lived for the pain of others, it was a miracle.

Jungkook was sure, his psychiatrist had a preference for him over Beomgyu. Why else would she do all these ambiguous gestures?

Satisfied with his thoughts, he looked away from the book, an indelible smile on his face, blushing on his cheeks.

“Beomgyu! It’s time!”

It was her voice. She was there, but not for him. His eyebrows furrowed. He watched angrily the young man hurrying to get up. He did not even look at him and ran towards Iris who was waiting for the patient, her arms folded in front of her chest, highlighting the latter. When he reached her level, surpassing her by at least one head, she gave him a smile so magnificent that Jungkook’s heart tightened. Her hand ruffled his patient’s newly-dyed blonde hair before they both set off for her office. Being categorized as a level nine patient, the sessions always took place in his own cell. He would have loved to be like Beomgyu and be able to see what her office looked like. He was sure it would be as beautiful as its owner. He could not have imagined anything else.

The man who remained seated on the bench at the opposite side gloated with pleasure. She had not hugged Beomgyu. He was the only one who could do that. This clearly proved his reasoning. Jungkook’s love for the psychiatrist was mutual.

He would make her his.

열하나. 

A purple-haired psychiatrist was relentlessly trying to find his colleague.

In his hand were dozens of sheets filled with notes about one specific thing: the behavior of one of their patients. Normally, this would have been considered an integral part of his routine. Psychiatrists communicated regularly with each other to seek advice, a more objective view on a certain subject or to keep them informed of the patient’s progress. All the doctors working in this hospital had extensive knowledge of all the patients interned within these walls. The one the man wanted to discuss was much better known than the others. Everyone knew his past, his actions. All were eagerly awaiting his evolution.

Jeon Jungkook attracted curiosity.

Seokjin was no exception, on the contrary as his former psychiatrist, his thirst for knowledge seemed to tenfold. However, if others seek to understand the reasons for his actions, he had his attention drawn to his behavior in front of a certain person. The latter being the woman he was desperately trying to spot in this maze that were the white corridors of the establishment. Several times, he had paged her with the remote put to this effect, without success. He had searched for her everywhere: in her office, in the gardens, near her patients’ cells. Only one place remained uninspected.

The break room.

Few employees used it simultaneously. The workloads, back-breaking, did not allow them time, for the majority, to rest for even a few minutes. Everyone would pass by in a whirlwind, often to get a coffee that they would drink on the way to take care of a patient. No one took the time to sit at a table, sipping the black beverage.

No one except Iris Poquelin.

The break room was empty. Only the French woman sat at one of the tables near the coffee machine, swallowing the delicious – a lie – black nectar. The only thing that made her body function was currently caffeine. She had been called by one of their superiors to replace the night shift. Therefore, she had to study the files of the colleague she was filling for. Unaccustomed to this, fatigue was quickly felt, hence the need to counter it. She had stopped counting after the fifth cup, she didn’t really want to know.

Her tied brown hair still fell out in front of her eyes. This seemed to bother her as she kept alternating between putting her rebellious locks behind her ear or blowing on them. The arrival of her colleague had not bothered her, gaze still fixed on her reports.

“Iris, can I talk to you for two seconds?”

Concentrated on her task, this sudden speech startled her, only now realizing the presence of the man.

“Yes, of course.”

The unease between them had never completely dissipated, however, it was now easier for them to converse. Iris still kept her word and only spoke to him when the subject dealt with their work. Perhaps it was a way for her to reassure herself. He no longer sought to understand, he had accepted that nothing would happen between them.

“I need to talk to you about Jeon Jungkook.”

At the name of her favorite patient, she raised her head, now attentive, having abandoned her cup of steaming coffee. Seokjin inspired a significant amount of air to amass all the courage present in his body. What he was going to say to her was tricky. Squeezing the papers against his chest, he began.

“I think he has a problem with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not in the sense ‘he doesn’t like you’. On the contrary.” He went on, sustaining his momentum. “I’ve been observing his behavior towards you for a long time and I think he has a real addiction for you. His eyes are always on you. When anyone other than him talks to you, he looks like he could murder them. I don’t know how to explain it... He’s just... completely obsessed with you.”

“Stop your bullshit. You’re saying nonsense.” She laughed, brushing off his arguments with a flick of her hand, shaking her head as if she had just been told totally absurd news. He admitted that, yes, it might seem to be crazy, but Jin was sure of his reasoning and it annoyed him that she did not take it seriously.

“He had an erection when you touched his hand, Iris. Hell, I’m sure he had an orgasm when you fell on him during the first session. This guy’s crazy. Get away from him as far as you can.”

She ignored him. What he said made no sense. It was complete bullshit.

On the contrary, Iris thought that Jungkook had evolved, and this for the good. He would communicate with her, even answer his questions when she asked him. Since the beginning of the sessions, he had sent only unusable answers to the man. When she had begun to hold sessions on her own, Iris had been able to get him to talk about the assault he had suffered in 2004. Perhaps Seokjin was jealous because she was able to do what he failed to do? Maybe he wanted to dissuade her from helping him to recover all the glory?

Exasperated by her own thoughts, she once again ignored him, preferring to pick up all her belongings and head to her office.

If only she had listened to him...

열둘.

Unlike usual, the normally warm atmosphere of the Café Ukiyo had evaporated, leaving the walls to soak up the melancholy. The cool colors had taken precedence on the warm hues. Despite the heated ground, it seemed to be constantly cold. The gloriosas, Japanese flowers on each table, had wilted. They were bent towards the ground, some petals whose hue had turned brown had stalled from the bud, falling miserably on the tables. Some blamed that on winter. Others, the regulars, said that this was a direct consequence of the absence of laughter.

No one was laughing, filling the room with joie de vivre. All you could hear was the sound of the spoons scraping the bottom of the cups, the sound of the coffee machine and the rare ringing of the doorbell.

The cups of tea on one of the tables had stopped giving off steam for a long time. The liquid was now frozen. Those who had previously ordered the beverage had left them out. Yeonjun, Rosé and Jimin were whispering. They did not want their conversation to reach the overly curious ears of the couple of septuagenarians.

Even if they did talk to each other, their attention was directed on their phones. All, in turn, were desperately trying to reach by message, by calling, by face-time, by any means, their friend Iris.

They had not heard from her for several days. They were immediately concerned about that. Although overwhelmed with her work, their friend had, without any exception, always kept in touch with them, whether to tell them about her day or to offer them to go out. The last time they had not heard from her, the trio had found their friend on the brink of a severe panic attack during a period of extensive finals.

“She told me that a patient had assaulted his psychiatrist. What if this happened to her? Maybe that’s why she can’t call us? Because she’s in the hospital.”

“Stop your bullshit Rosé,” Jimin replied, exasperated. “We would have been warned in two days or less. It’s been a week. That’s not it. For sure.”

“But if it’s not that, what is it then?”

The question, depicting all the despair lodged in her body, triggered a silence that did not falter. They were looking at each other, the same question resonating in their brains.

Where was Iris?

Meanwhile, in the center of Seoul at the SPHSK, the reports had piled up on Kim Seokjin’s desk. He did not have the heart to treat them, this lack of desire translated into a long sigh. The doctor hadn’t done anything for several hours. He must have been the only one who felt that way, and for good reason, the rest of the hospital seemed to be blocked into a frenzy. For the past week, several patients had been integrated into the establishment, leaving it to staff no choice but to assign them quickly to psychiatrists and nurses who were already overwhelmed. While the employees were busy with their own tasks, he desperately waited for time to pass.

The clock’s hands attached to the wall had slowed considerably, turning the minutes into hours. Several times he had wondered if it was broken. His diary was empty, the empty daily boxes seeming to taunt him. They were an allegory of his boredom.

No one came to talk to him, a constant silence seemed to have permeated every place he passed through. Psychiatrists no longer discussed between appointments, crumbling under the work, and the nurses never dared to speak to him. They were too busy looking at him and whispering things he didn’t want to know about. He was not half-witted, he knew aptly that the blush on their cheeks and their silly little giggles meant.

Bored, Seokjin’s gaze rested on the chair in front of him. This one was empty, albeit adorning the white blouse that he had left out. There was no point in wearing it. Rarely leaving his office lately, the man did not have to look professional. The only use it had for a week was to make him sweat and hoard himself. His days had been spent killing time on his phone or computer. The few files he had quite neglected a while ago had been a very brief distraction; he had taken care of it in one sitting.

With his eyes fixed on the chair, the absence of anyone in front of him made the doctor think of something that had been bothering him for several days now.

Where was Iris?

It had been a while since the woman’s brown hair had entered his field of vision. More than a week to be more precise. He didn’t know what to make of the disappearance. No one at the hospital had received an e-mail from the person concerned, notifying them of her absence. This event was rare enough to be pointed out.

Iris Poqulin was never absent, hence Seokjin’s worries.

She had entered the hospital months earlier, and in those days the woman had always been present, even when sickness made her weak. Many times, when he had advised her to go home, she had told him that it was not a small cold that would prevent her from doing her job.

He concluded she had to have more than a cold.

He would have liked her to warn him, but he was under no illusions. Since their night together, a constant awkwardness had developed between them, making it difficult to communicate with each other even during their working days. Why would she tell him instead of management? For no reason. The man had to wait to see her come back, his head full of questions and concerns. But there laid the problem, she wasn’t coming back.

He had hoped to see her walk through the door of his office, arms full of files, to discuss a patient but his door remained intact.

Taking his phone out of the white drawer of his office, he unlocked it. His gaze remained fixed on the icons of his applications. Was he really going to do that? Would he pass for a clingy man? It was the last thing the man wanted, but it had been titillating him for too long. His finger was about to press the 'call’ button, ready to hear Iris’s soft voice and ask her why she was gone, but he was prevented from doing so.

An alarm suddenly resonated in the whole hospital.

He jolted, raising his head to his door from where he could see all the panic-stricken employees through the small square window. At first, the man did not worry. It was not uncommon for hospital management to work together to schedule an evacuation exercise in the event of a fire or intrusion. It was, however, when he noticed that the signal was continuous that Seokjin felt the panic mounted in him.

It was a long, shrill soundtrack that would fit into your skull and cause a buzz in your ears.

This alarm, all knew it, knew what it meant: a serious thing, very serious for an establishment in which the greatest Korean killers lived. It was rare to hear this signal. It was even said that it had only sounded once, in 1929. Ninety years later, it sounded again, this alarm carrying bad news.

A ninth-floor patient had escaped.

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Im is asking for you!”

A man had just entered the office without bothering to knock beforehand. The man ignored this, his mind directed towards something else. His theory was thus confirmed. As much as he did not want it to be, his thoughts were confirmed.

It was not an exercise.

He recognized the newcomer very well. This was the guard who had been looking for him under the orders of Mr. Im after the accident with Dr. Lee. It was on that day that he first met Iris. His mind diverged again towards the woman, but his attention quickly focused again on the main crisis when the guard left without looking behind, assuming that the psychiatrist had followed him.

The ascent to the ninth floor was long, the tension slowing down time. In addition, all elevators had been blocked by the hospital’s security system; the same happening for the doors separating the different sections on each floor.

The one they were going to was the most secure of all. So, how did someone managed to get out? It was simply impossible, between the locks, codes, guards.

“Kim!”

Mr. Im came fast to his colleague, grabbing him by the arm, leaving him no time to think. Beastly, allowing himself to be dragged like a vulgar puppet, he was brought to a cell. The only one whose door was wide open.

The thirtieth cell.

Jeon Jungkook’s cell.

It seemed intact, at least at first glance. The pieces of furniture were in their place, the bed was made. It was as if no one had stayed here, but everyone knew that this thought was very far from the truth.

The only thing disturbing about the order of the room was the body of the nurse lying in the middle of it. Her skin was awfully pale. There was no sign of blood on her body, only the victim’s face had been painted by the beatings, each more violent than the other. It was a macabre spectacle that reminded him of Dr. Lee’s bloodied face. A shiver ran down his spine, his hair sticking up. He had to look away, unable to face any longer the sight which accentuated the disgust and fear that were spread out in his body.

“If I brought you here, Seokjin, it’s because I need to show you something.”

Mr. Im did not wait for an answer, preferring to show him what he wanted before hearing his reaction. The old man advanced slowly, characteristic of the people of his age, towards the white bed. Always slowly, he stooped down, lifting the mattress with a little trouble. With a feverish hand, stained by age, but meticulous, the man began to remove the sheets, leaving them to fall to the ground, near the still nurse’s body.

The fabric, which almost took on the role of the shroud, reminded everyone of the cruel death of this innocent employee.

Seokjin noticed from the corner of his eye an employee that he knew to be a psychologist holding a retch, but his attention turned again to Mr. Im, who had now completely turned over the mattress.

All of them paled at the sight.

Dozens and dozens of papers that appeared to be polaroids had been attached to the mattress. They were everywhere, covering the entire bottom side of the mattress. The whole was heart-shaped. Seokjin, determined to understand the cause of his patient’s escape, got even closer to the bed to see the contents of these photos.

The man felt an electric shock through his body, nailing him to the ground. He couldn’t move. The beat of his heart accelerated, his hands became sweaty, a few tears came to lodge themselves in his eyes.

All these pictures had one thing in common.

Iris.

She had been photographed from behind, from the side, from the front... Literally from every possible angle. Most had been taken in the streets at night when she would return home, but some seemed to stage her in her bedroom and living room. One caught his attention, she was exiting a subway entrance, files in hands, a smile on her face.

He hoped to see that smile intact in the near future.

One person, the most appropriate term being “accomplice,” must have followed her every day under the command of Jeon Jungkook and then pass the photos on to the killer. Through letters, it seemed, given the pile of envelopes decorating the floor.

Some of these pictures, at the center of the work, were covered with an almost transparent white liquid.

“It’s sperm.”

The old man’s words were the last straw. The psychiatrist, known for his cold demeanor, for the first time since his arrival here lost control of his emotions. This situation terrified him. He was afraid for the hospital employees, afraid for him, but above all terrified for Iris.

Iris...

He prayed to heaven that she was fine.

BREAKING NEWS: “The Man with The Blades” escaped

This morning, the SPHSK Hospital alerted the authorities. At exactly 9:38 a.m., the establishment’s alarm went off. It took ten minutes for staff to understand that their most dangerous patient, Jeon Jungkook, had escaped.

Jeon Jungkook, known by many as “The Man with The Blades” is a serial killer who terrorized the entire country for several years until his arrest on October 10, 2018. He was responsible for more than forty murders, the majority of his victims were women. After two months of peace, Seoul is again disturbed by this escape. No one knows how he would have managed to escape, but assumptions are beginning to surface. A nurse was found beaten to death in his room. She must have been, against her will, the main tool helping the man to escape.

The director of the hospital provided all the necessary information to the police for the investigation.

열셋.

Iris awoke in her room when the sun was at its highest point.

It must have been past noon, but the young woman did not feel able to get out of bed. The disease had conquered her. A high fever had manifested itself one evening as she was about to go to bed. Since then, it had been impossible for her to spend even one decent night. As a result, the girl was forced to make an appointment with the doctor who had forbidden her to leave her apartment for two long weeks.

When the announcement was agreed, panic had gripped his body. Two weeks off? The hospital would be against that. She had only been working there for a few months, missing two weeks would be very frowned upon. It was out of the question to be seen as one of those employees taking advantage of a doctor’s appointment to be off sick.

With this in mind, the woman had begun to protest, ignoring her intense headache. Nothing worked. The doctor had not faltered and had merely given her the prescription for the medication. It was sheepish that she returned home. Moreover, as if bad luck had decided that she would make a great victim, the network, whether cellular or internet, had been cut off in her building, resulting in her being completely isolated from the world.

Iris was bored to death.

Without the internet, time was getting longer and longer. To counter this, sleeping seemed to be the best solution. The advantage of this was that she was recovering faster than the doctor had anticipated. Maybe she would be able to negotiate for her sick leave to be shortened, who knows? She wanted to trod the hospital’s white floors, wanted to see Beomgyu reading books, but above all, she wanted to see Jungkook.

Oh… Jungkook.

Life seemed dull without him, without comforting him, without talking to him. The colors had faded, no joy made his heart beat. Nothing but emptiness.

Giving herself courage, the young woman ended up putting her feet on the ground, leaving the comfortable cocoon of warmth that was her blanket.

Her morning routine was quickly completed. A moment she preferred, showering, had been considerably abbreviated in recent weeks. Staying up made her sicker, black dots often appearing in her field of vision.

Dressed in a loose-wearing dress, perfect for staying at home, the woman went into the kitchen to grab a fruit that she ate just as quickly as she had done everything else. Iris was already missing her bed and she was going to go back in her room to lie on it, but she was interrupted by the doorbell.

Immediately, Iris frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It seemed strange, but, confused, she still walked to the door and opened it.

“Hello.”

The woman screamed in surprise, stepping back several steps until she was stopped by her couch. With one of her hands on her heart, she watched in horror as the man entered her apartment as if he were at home.

“What is— What are you doing here?”

He tried to approach the woman, but she backed away as far as she could. He frowned but said nothing. She must have been surprised to see him.

“It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you. I was worried.” While uttering these words, the man looked at her with large sparkling eyes, similar to those of a child. He stretched out a hand towards her, wanting to feel the peach skin against his, but no hand warmed his palm.

A flash of common sense, something she hadn't felt in months, animated her eyes.

If she had found him adorable in the hospital, here at home, that expression had become terrifying. It was impossible to forget the fact that in front of her was a serial killer.

A serial killer on the loose.

This radically changed from the secure walls of the hospital, in which it was always possible to get hold of a tranquilizer syringe. This was not the case in her apartment. The predator could devour its prey at any time without it being able to defend itself or even warn someone for a lack of network.

“Jungkook, what did you do?”

The hospital was a secure, perhaps the most secure place, in Seoul. How had he managed to escape?

“I only did what I thought was necessary.”

Tears began to silently flow down her cheeks. Weakened by the illness that was spreading through her body, she was not quick enough to free herself when the man stood in front of her.

He took hold of her chin to tilt her head towards him. For a few moments, his eyes roamed this delicate face, admiring its beauty, and then stopped on the raining, dropping from her orbs. Never had he seen eyes so beautiful. The reflection of those tears made a star in the black sky insignificant when compared to her irises painted with fear. A fear he adored, which awakened low instincts in his soul.

Suddenly, he brought her against him, wiping away the tears with his tongue. Iris struggled as best she could, trying to kick him, spit in his face, but nothing helped.

Fear put her brain to sleep, preferring to forget rather than see what would happen. She didn’t care about the consequences, accepted her sentence, waited for it almost like a release.

After months of psychological follow-up, months of going through his file, learning and analyzing what he was capable of, trying to make him feel included, trying to make him feel loved, she finally gave up.

Falling against the man’s body, she whispered the three words that had been tormenting her negative thoughts since the first appointment with him.

“You’re crazy…”

These three words sparked something in Jungkook: immense rage. His eyebrows frowned, his fists clenched. She just called him crazy. She had just behaved like everyone else.

Impossible.

He could not bear this, he was unable to stand the sight of the radiance of fear passing through the gaze of his beloved. He panicked. Wanting to take it away from her irises, the man, in a rush, only found one solution.

In an instant, the woman found herself on the ground, lying like a rag doll. Standing in front of her, breathing quickly, Jeon Jungkook held the rest of the vase he had just broken on the side of her skull.

His red vision dissipated. Returning to himself, he watched the scene, his eyes watery. When he understood what he had just done, Jungkook rushed to the side of the brunette. Passing one hand under her back and the other under her knees, he held her against his chest, his heart beating in harmony with hers.

With all the delicacy that his body contained, the man placed her softly on the sofa, being careful as to not let her head graze the rough fabric. His calloused hand stroked the woman’s bleeding forehead before he leaned down to kiss the wound, hoping that through this he would perhaps relieve some pain.

What did he just do?

Iris regained consciousness a few minutes later, after having succeeded in perceiving repetitive sounds. Straightening up, her eyes ajar, the woman saw the man who had still not left her apartment. Her heart tightened at the scene.

The man’s body was trembling, shaken by the tearing sobs that were breaking the silence of the room.

Crouched on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, his body swung back and forth as tears traced furrows in his cheeks. The words “I’m sorry” or “I didn’t want to hurt you” kept being uttered. The woman, still frightened, her head still sore, looked at this wretched sight with wide eyes.

As if what he had just done had never happened, Iris ventured to put an arm around the man’s shoulders. She had to console him, she had to. She couldn’t bear to see him like that. It wasn’t even that big of a blow. Nothing had happened.

To her surprise, Jungkook put his head on her shoulder. He buried it in the hollow of her neck, breathing in the smell of honeysuckle of his beloved. She gently stroked his hair in an almost maternal manner. Iris made no remark about his crying, aware that it must have been humiliating enough for him to break down in front of her. She continued to caress his hair before feeling something cold on her arm and saw a tear. Her own eyes started to wet but she made the effort to contain herself.

The woman felt him calm down. His breathing was less jerky, he was no longer agitated with tremors. She cradled him like a child.

He didn’t shy away.

With his arms, he came to hug her, bringing her body as close as possible to his own. Jungkook clung to her like a castaway on its raft. In this ocean of pain, she was his lifeline, the only one who could fix him. How could he have dared to raise his hand on her?

She finally saw the real face of Jeon Jungkook. That of a sensitive young man, caught in a whirlwind of circumstances, all more disastrous than the other. She looked quietly at the time: 14:10.

“Kook,” She murmured.

Iris found it very strange to call him by his first name, but not unpleasant. He lifted his head, a sign that he was listening.

“Why did you do that?”

Jungkook curled up, even more, making him appear smaller than he already was. He replied in a nearly-silent voice: “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Psychiatrists are the first to be exposed to the risk of becoming mentally unstable. By dint of rubbing shoulders with patients whose pathologies are all more serious than the other, it is not uncommon for some to cede.

Sometimes it’s easier to let go than to resist.

Iris seemed to be part of this group of people. She, a person who was so attached to the theory, should have known that taking care of Jeon Jungkook would have repercussions on her. She did not know, however, that these so-called repercussions would be to lose all sense of reality and her sanity. Her brain was constantly clouded by Jeon Jungkook’s effect on her. Her actions were now only dictated by her passions and not by her reason. Therefore, she did something that triggered a tornado of emotions in Jungkook’s body and heart.

She kissed him.

Jungkook’s tongue came to meet Iris’s, and her whole body shuddered. His painful erection returned to the rate at which it was disconcerted, so abruptly and painfully. Since their meeting, he had had only one desire: to fuck her savagely, to make her his. Right now, anything could have happened, and nothing could have pulled Iris out of his arms. No one. She gave herself to him, offered him his body as a sign of sacrifice.

Iris was not in better shape. Her emotions were exacerbated by what had happened before. She imagined her patient’s hands in places he had yet to touch.

She dreamed that his luscious mouth would suck at her throat to decorate it with purple brushstrokes, that his strong hands would roll up her dress on her thighs before granting her a thousand and one wonders.

Her caressing and soft hands soon became abrupt and pressing: she no longer unbuttoned, she pulled spasmodically and tore off the remaining buttons, immediately dragging the shirt along his arms and throwing it into a corner. She grazed her fingers against the man’s torso and did not hesitate to plant her nails slightly as she traced her way down, snatching from her lover a guttural complaint that rolled down his throat and died in him. He bit her lip in response.

She devoured him with her eyes, picking up his gaze like an ultimate caress, and slowly she pulled her dress up her hips, ribs and finally over her head, continuing to roll her pelvis on his. Jungkook’s hands followed this movement closely, caressing every patch of skin she uncovered for him. He felt blessed to have such a woman sitting on him.

She was like a goddess, worthy of being idealized, venerated, worshipped. He thought of this as his duty. So, trying to give her as much sensation as possible, he finally put his hands on her breasts and pulled the lingerie down unceremoniously, snatching a cry of pain when the attachment of her bra gave way.

Jungkook kept his pants while the woman only wore a thin thong. She was oh so beautiful, even more than he had ever imagined at night. His eyes memorized every detail of her body, admiring them. In front of him was a work of art.

However, the man could not help but think that some things were missing from this painting.

He, therefore, kissed her breasts, wanting to color them. The feeling of seeing her naked, grinding against him, while she had buried her head in the hollow of his shoulder and her hands in his hair, was indescribable. He appreciated having the advantage and so he made the decision to continue the torture. He abruptly turned her to the left, positioning himself above her, his knees making their way in between her thighs. She moaned when his hand lasciviously weaved under the folds of her underwear and his fingers began to wander among other damp folds. She threw her head back, letting herself be overwhelmed by the delicious sensations of carnal pleasure.

Jungkook smiled when he saw her tremble. He was thrilled to stop her movements and slowly remove his fingers from her before taking his time to gently lower her thong, leaving her violently frustrated.

“Jungkook!” She panted, trying to straighten herself but was held back by an iron fist.

This whine could have made him cum in his underwear if he had not noticed something that made him mad. Extremely mad. Iris’s hands had had the misfortune of slipping into her to relieve herself...

“Stop it,” He warned, waiting barely before raising his voice. “Right now!”

He was the only one who could touch her, her whole body belonged to him. She had said it from her own mouth. Iris was his. No one had the right to smear the temple of beauty that was her body, not even herself.

Opening her eyes, without ever obeying, she saw him standing in front of the bed, his body sweating in the dim light, his brown hair unraveled, his angular jaw contracted, his black eyes impenetrable... His gaze was unmistakable: she had to stop. Not taking him seriously, it was with a charming smile that she began to undulate her hips, causing her index finger to thrust deeper back and forth inside her. She exaggerated a few moans until her lover threw himself at her and forced her to stop, holding her wrists above her head. His furious eyes were tinged with desire and he kissed her without letting her regain freedom, rubbing his hardness against her swollen lips.

He continued the pace until she was once again at the gates of enjoyment and stopped. Iris opened her eyes abruptly and struggled, furiously left on her hunger. Again.

She caught his lips when she realized that he had the advantage by holding his wrists and bit him to the blood, collecting said warm liquid in his mouth, licking his lips greedily.

The scene had the desired effect: Jungkook cracked, took her wrists in one of his hands, dragged the other behind the young woman’s arched back, and positioned her correctly before penetrating her forcefully. She held back a cry, merely opening a mute mouth that Jungkook kissed as he began his movements in her. He gave her neither time to catch her breath or to get used to his presence. He hammered her from start to finish, sometimes kissed her, continually putting pressure on her wrists which prevented her from moving. He took her relentlessly until the final and extreme highness he reached, her walls tightening too pleasurable for the man to control himself.

Jungkook let out a groan, which he barely muffled in Iris’s shoulder while she, in the same position as him, struggled to resurface - her head shook from left to right, her body trembled from all sides and her moans rolled of her throat in a raspy tone. The explosion had taken place in her body, a powerful orgasm, which had risen from her lower belly like a ball of snarling energy that grew too full and exploded by throwing fireworks all over her, disconnecting her from her brain.

They stood for a moment without moving or speaking. He was holding her firmly, still in her, his eyes wet from having cum so hard. She was completely elsewhere, drained from all energy; her mouth still opened against the shoulder of the brown-haired man.

Her eyes began to close when she felt cold little touches. Furrowing her eyebrows, she let the light come into contact with her pupils again. A look at her lover’s face made her understand what was going on.

He was crying, a smile stuck to his face.

“I love you so much...”

A smile appeared on her lips, which were again covered with kisses. However, it soon disappeared when she felt him thrust again, fucking his own cum back into her body. Her lower abdomen and lips were far too sensitive from the orgasm she had just reached. Many moans, of pleasure, of pain – she didn’t know – escaped her mouth between two kisses. He continued his torture, giving slow but profound thrusts.

Gripping the sheets, her knuckles turning white, arching her back, she slowly let herself be consumed by the fire set ablaze in her stomach... Until it stopped.

Opening her eyes, indignant, she uttered a cry of surprise when she noticed the object in his hands. He was holding a black silk scarf. Before she could say anything, he turned her around and blindfolded her eyes meticulously, securing the fabric so hard that she made the remark that it would be impossible for her to untie it.

“What are you doing?” She asked with a smile on her face.

“Don’t worry...” He said softly in her ear, biting the lobe of it for a fraction of a second. Jungkook, feeling the desire rising in him, released her, leaving the woman blind and alone.

His lips were against hers without warning. Violently, he trapped her wrists against her body as she was about to hug him. She moaned in frustration. He smiled, taking pleasure in seeing her at his mercy.

Iris was his.

Suddenly, unable to resist his urges, he turned them around, finding himself under her. Seeing her this way, on him, reminded Jungkook of all the power she had over him. He was as much his as she belonged to him. It was just the two of them, lulled by love and desire. No one could separate them.

Enjoying this position for a few more seconds with caresses on her ass, he didn’t wait any longer and impaled her on him. In unison, two long moans came out of their throats, their heads either upside down or placed on the pillow.

“Jungkook, take it off,” She moans, pointing to the headband.

“I won’t untie it until I’m done,” He growled in return, starting, overexcited and severely frustrated, sudden hip thrusts.

Having difficulty continuing a continuous movement, she leaned, two arms outstretched, on the torso of the brown. The thrusts that followed were much deeper and stronger.

With his wrists reddened, sore, Jungkook leaned on his feet and pushed as high as he could, having their body meet at the same time as Iris dropped down when they managed to be coordinated enough for a series of powerful thrusts.

He pressed her more against him, putting in this pressure what he could not say: his emotion, his sincere desire to be good to her, the violent love that she had not ceased to inspire him. He would never recover, he knew it. He was a lost cause. The crises were coming back at random times, without even being able to forecast them, discuss the causes. The love he had for this woman did not help his situation. He saw her every day, spoke to her, couldn’t help but think of her at night, a hand wrapped around his length.

She was toxic to him just as much as he was to her. But he didn’t care. Jungkook only wanted her love. He had no need to heal as long as he could have Iris by his side.

This love, which he described as ethereal, brought out things in him that he did not think he could. He had hurt. He had killed. Unscrupulously. But passion is one of the most dangerous things for mankind, it pushes them to do horrible things. Impudent desires often come out at night when no one sees it. Jungkook, on the other hand, wanted to satisfy them in broad daylight. The more she loved him, the more he wanted to possess her, until he destroyed her, in the frightening darkness of the male’s selfishness.

Finally, sweating and in an ultimate cry, Iris planted her nails to the blood in the pectorals of her lover as a phenomenal orgasm ripped through her. Her whole body began to tremble, her eyes rolled upwards and her moans increased again, ripping off her vocal cords. Seconds later, a second — more powerful — scream was heard, a cry that anyone who heard it would describe as bloodcurdling.

Jungkook, without turning around, staring at her naked body, had taken the knife in his right hand. And, for a moment, he stood there, clenching it in his fist. He looked at the blade. The magnificent spectacle of seeing the moon reflected in the metal was offered to him.

Was it his thirst that had returned, to avenge the very old offenses he did not remember, this grudge amassed from male to male, since her first disloyalty with this wretched doctor?

He settled his mad eyes on Iris. He only had the need to throw her dead on his back, a prey that was snatched from others. The door of terror opened on this black chasm of sex.

Love to death, destroying to possess more.

“Jungkook, please...”

She tilted her submissive face with a pleading tenderness, discovering her bare neck, showing him the voluptuous attachment of her breasts. The man, seeing this tanned flesh as if in a burst of fire, raised his fist, armed with the knife.

Iris, blindfolded, could not see the flash of the blade and continued to twist in all directions, writhing with pleasure.

“Jungkook... Fuck!”

Teeth clenched, he didn’t say a word, continuing his thrusts. His black eyes remained fixed on her chest, firm, inflating at each of her inspirations.

The sole thing he wanted was hidden by these two works of art that were her breasts.

She was the most beautiful he had ever seen her like this: haggling, blindfolded, helpless, naked. She was a goddess among men.

His goddess.

Thus, as a sacrifice — this is what it was for him — he brought down his fist in the heart, the knife nailing the moans down her throat. He was turning the weapon over, by an appalling need of the hand that could not stop trembling.

Did she scream? He never knew it, the constant ringing in his ears masking the rest as well as his moans.

The pain that had arisen in the woman’s heart had spread throughout her body. She felt that a little spark, pleasure, was now nothing more than a gigantic flame, pain. The spasms she could not control tightened her walls around Jungkook’s length. The latter had buried his face in her breasts, at the very spot where blood was gushing.

This hot liquid, his ichor, burning with love for him, had painted his face, his hands. He relished the moment, mesmerized by the slowing noise of her heart, before parting with her after reaching his climax. He watched for a few moments as his sperm flowed from her crotch to the mattress before standing up.

The sound of an iron blade striking the ground resounded in the room.

Immobile, Jungkook looked at her, lying at his feet in front of the bed. He admired his painting in the deafening silence of the room.

In the midst of these red drapes, these red curtains, on the floor, she bled a lot, from a red stream that dripped between the breasts, spread on her stomach, to a thigh, from where it fell in big drops on the floor. The dress, torn, was soaked. He never thought she had so much blood.

What haunted him was the mask of abominable terror that took, in death, this face of a pretty, sweet, so docile woman. The brown hair had risen, a helmet of horror, dark as night because of the liquid covering them. Once sparkly eyes, disproportionately widened, were still questioning, distraught, terrified of mystery.

Why, why did he kill her?

She had just been crushed, carried away in the fatality of the murder, tender and innocent, without her ever having understood. Jungkook was astonished by his actions. His black, crazed, eyes remained fixed on his own hands, covered with this scarlet paint. The smell of it made him dizzy, his whole body intoxicated by this metallic scent.

Slowly, he brought one of the two hands to the level of his eyes, inspecting it from every possible angle. The reflection of the moon on the liquid, which was already beginning to clot, was fascinating. The red hue had disappeared, giving way to black and white in the darkness. With his hand very close to his face, the smell became stronger, invading his nostrils, his brain. He heard a beast sniff, wild bear growl, lion roar; he tensed but fastly calmed down.

Jungkook was the one making that noise.

He brought three fingers to the level of his mouth, took out his tongue and tasted the carmine red liquid. The metallic taste spread in his taste buds. A pure delight. The man moans, his head tilted, his eyes rolled back.

Already addicted to this beverage, he grabbed the knife again and slid the blade over the victim’s neck. A delicate line soon bared her skin tinted by his hickeys. The blood abundantly flowed but was soon intercepted by the red lips of Jungkook, who had buried his head in the hollow of her neck. Tears of joy flowed down his cheeks as his tongue eagerly licked all the drops of blood he could. He resembled a thirsty man seeing an oasis. This blood was the fruit of his goddess whose inert heart had beaten until the last second for him.

He had succeeded, he had killed her! Yes, he did that. An unbridled joy, a huge enjoyment flowing in his blood to his heart, in the full satisfaction of eternal desire. He felt a surprise of pride, a growing of his male sovereignty. This woman, he had killed her. He could now possess her, as he had long wanted, all the way, to the point of annihilating her. She was no longer, she would never be anyone else’s.

Two steps were enough to reach the body, he crouched at her side, caressing the oh so delicate and now rigid face. With the palm of his hand, he passed the latter over the eyes of his beloved, closing them.

“Goodnight, angel.”

Jungkook remained for several minutes in this silence, cherishing it. This calmness, however, was torn apart by the man’s thunderous laughter. A laugh whose melody was nothing but love, joy, satisfaction.

Gone were the conniving smiles and stupid gifts with Beomgyu. Gone were the waves of laughter with Jimin, Rosé, and Yeonjun. Gone were the caresses exchanged with Kim Seokjin.

The nightmare was over.

Iris was finally his, and she would be forever.

열넷.

Seoul: Woman found stabbed to death in her home

A 28-year-old woman was found dead on Saturday night at her home in the Gangnam district of the heart of Seoul, reported the authorities. According to the initial elements of the investigation, the possibility of voluntary homicide is being considered by the police.

It was a friend of the victim, Kim Seokjin, a psychiatrist at SPHSK, worried about not having heard from her, who made the grisly discovery. When he opened the door of the apartment, he discovered his friend naked and lying on the floor in her room.

The victim is said to have a stab wound in the chest and multiple lacerations. The Seoul prosecutor’s office refers to a “plurality of deep cuts.”

There was no evidence of a break-in or a fight in the apartment and no weapons were found there, police sources said.

The prosecutor’s office opened an investigation for voluntary homicide and handed it over to the criminal brigade of the Seoulite judicial police.

Opinions converge on a single culprit, the famous serial killer Jeon Jungkook also known as “The Man with the Blades”. The friend of the victim, who also worked as a psychiatrist in the same hospital, reported that the woman was in charge of the man. He also reported that the serial killer had an obsession and blind trust in the victim.

A crime of passion? The thesis is not ruled out.

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[dulcaet]

paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart. 

pairing. yoongi | reader  genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed. 

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me 

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

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