The heavy thud of Jungkook's fist against Tae's apartment door echoed through the thin walls later that same night. He didn't wait for an answer, twisting the knob – unlocked again, the careless slut – and barging inside. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, landing instantly on Tae.

She sat rigidly on the worn couch, bathed in the blue glow of her phone screen. She wore a scrap of black lace barely qualifying as a dress, her legs folded beneath her. Her face wasn't its usual teasing mask; it was etched with cold fury. She stood slowly as he approached, her movements deliberate, dangerous.