Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JIMINs POV 

       I was already late. I always made time for my dog, Milo— it was the least I could do for him — but he gave me those sad eyes when I locked the door, and now I was two minutes behind schedule. I jabbed the elevator button and waited, earbuds in, hoodie up, trying to mute the world.

The elevator doors slid open with a reluctant sigh.

And there it was — a dog.

   Not the kind you expect to see lounging in a lobby. This one looked like it had wandered out of a samurai folktale. Small but sturdy, with fur the color of toasted bread and a tail that curled like a question mark over its back. Its ears were sharp triangles, standing at attention, and its eyes held a kind of smug wisdom, like it knew something you didn't.

I stepped out, eyes flicking around. No leash. No owner.

Not my problem.

   It padded toward me with too much excitement for a creature that hadn't been invited. Its tongue lolled out in a grin, and its steps were light, deliberate — like it was auditioning for a role it already knew it had nailed. I didn't know what kind of dog it was, exactly. Not a retriever, not a husky. Something in between. Fox-like. Regal. A little too pleased with itself.

I ignored it, of course. But it followed anyway.

   I didn't do well with unexpected things — especially ones that made noise or wanted attention.

"Go," I muttered. "Shoo."

It wagged harder.

I looked toward the front entrance. Empty. I sighed and crouched, slipping my arms around the dog and lifting it. Heavy. Warm. Not mine.

  The irony wasn't lost on me. I had a dog upstairs — one my mother guilted me into adopting because, and I quote, "Even if you won't let people in, at least let someone love you." She said it like it was simple.

It wasn't.

I started walking toward the front of the building, arms full of fur, hoping to dump the dog outside and call it a day.

And that's when I heard footsteps pounding behind me.

"Wait—hey!"

I stopped. Turned.

    Tall. Ridiculously tall. Dressed in a black tank and jeans, looking like someone who should be in a gym commercial or a motorcycle ad — not jogging through my building after a dog.

He came to a halt in front of me, slightly breathless. "Thank God. He got out again. I'm so sorry."

    I shifted the dog toward him without a word.

He grinned — like full-on, teeth and dimples. "You carried him down? That's... kind of amazing."

I didn't respond.

"Seriously," he added, taking the dog from me. "Thank you."

"Yeah," I said. And turned to leave.

     Just like that. Elevator. Door. Silence.

No more dogs. No more smiles.

   And definitely no more people.

A/N

    Short chapter, sorry

Chapter Text

JIMINs POV

  I usually take the elevator.

But it was down for maintenance today — just my luck — so I had no choice but to drag myself up four flights of stairs after a full shift of running around the damn city with food strapped to my back like some underpaid pack mule.

   Sweat clung to the back of my neck. My earbuds were dead. My legs were done. All I wanted was to get home, shower, and collapse which is what I wish I could tell myself coz I'm definitely not getting any rest any time soon

And then I heard it — that familiar, excited bark.

No. No, no, no—

    I turned the corner to the third floor and sure enough, there he was. The damn golden dog again, barreling straight for me like I owed him my life.

I stumbled back a step as he pounced. Wet nose against my jeans. Tail smacking my shin. Tongue out like he'd been waiting all day just to ruin mine.

"You again," I muttered.

"Technically, you're on his turf," said a voice above me.

I looked up. And there he was.

    Leaning against the stair railing. Tank top again. Hair damp like he'd just showered. A towel slung over his shoulder like he walked out of a cologne ad and into my hell.

"Sorry," he added with a laugh. "He has a thing for you apparently."

I stared. "You might want to teach him boundaries."

"He's better at making friends than I am," he said, like it was a confession.

I didn't answer. Just nudged the dog off gently and kept climbing.

  He didn't stop me — but he didn't disappear either.

Instead, he started walking up beside me. Slowly. Not close enough to touch. Just... there.

   I gave him a side glance.

"Something you need?"

"Not really," he said. "Just thought I'd say hi. Again."

"You already did that."

He smiled. "Yeah, well. Consider it follow-up."

I didn't smile back. I didn't really do that anymore.

When we got to our floor, I turned toward my apartment.

So did he.

I froze.

He pointed to the unit next to mine. "Guess we're neighbors."

"Guess so," I said flatly.

The dog barked happily like it was fate.

I unlocked my door, stepped inside, and closed it before he could say anything else.

But even after I leaned my head back against the door, I could still hear the dog's tail thumping against the hallway floor.

     The apartment wasn't flashy, but it wasn't shabby either. Middle-class at best. A few modern touches here and there — sleek furniture, minimalist art on the walls, but nothing that screamed wealth. Not that it needed to. The illusion of simplicity suited me just fine. No need to remind anyone that I wasn't exactly living paycheck to paycheck.

    I kicked my shoes off by the door and tossed my jacket onto the couch. The dog — that annoying golden retriever — ran in circles at my feet, barking up at me like I owed him attention. I sighed, rolling my eyes, but I didn't ignore him for long.

    "Yeah, yeah," I muttered as I made my way to the kitchen, the dog trailing behind me. I grabbed a bowl from the counter and filled it with food. Not that I liked having him around, but I wasn't cruel enough to starve the damn thing.

"You happy now?" I asked, watching the dog gobble up the food. The fact that I'd even bothered to feed him made me feel like a hypocrite, but I did it anyway.

   There were no other sounds in the apartment but the rhythmic chewing of the dog and the occasional sound of my own breathing.

    I finished filling my glass with water, drinking it quickly before tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin. I wasn't here to waste time. The dog was fed, and that's all he needed from me.

    Afterward, I walked past the bathroom and into the narrow hallway that led to my bedroom. The apartment wasn't huge, but it was mine, and that was all I cared about.

I pulled my shirt off, tossing it onto the bed, and grabbed a fresh one from the dresser. I was quick, methodical, almost robotic in how I moved. I changed into something more practical — dark jeans, a simple t-shirt—Then I moved to the desk.

It was time.

   The laptop sat on the surface, illuminated by the glow of the screen. Around it were pinned photographs of various people, each one marked with red X's. These weren't family photos or vacation pictures. They were targets. Faces of people whose lives I'd been tracking for weeks, if not months.

I opened the laptop, clicking through the folders that held everything I needed to know. Names, addresses, schedules. It was all neatly organized. Perfectly crafted.

My gaze shifted to the name of my next target

"Kim Juyoung."

The guy was living on borrowed time. I'd been following him closely — his routines, his late-night walks, the alley he always took every Thursday. He was predictable. And that made him an easy target.

   I pulled out a black bag from the drawer under my desk and opened it, revealing the few tools inside. Nothing too fancy — gloves, a small blade, a wire. Things I knew how to use without hesitation. Each item was familiar, its weight comforting.

 I grabbed the tools and put them in my equipment bag then checked the time, 10:30pm

  He usually leaves his office by 9pm so by my calculations, he's home now making my job more easier for me. He lived alone, no partner yet except for some occasional flings. Yeah, that's how much I knew about him

  The ritual was simple. Gather the tools. Make sure the target is alone. Get in, give them a miserable death and leave without no traces. 

  I glanced back at the photos on the wall, each one of those faces marking a life that would soon be erased. This was how it worked.

The dog barked one more time, but this time, I didn't even turn around.

"Shut up," I muttered under my breath, as I headed toward the door. The same deliberate care I always took with every step — the same attention to detail — had me leaving without hesitation.

     I took the back entrance. I always do. The front door has never been kind to me—too many eyes, too many questions, too much noise. I wasn't the only one who thought so. Most people living here knew the unspoken rule: if you didn't want to be interrogated about your life choices at 2 a.m., don't walk past the night receptionist.

She's sharp. Eyes like searchlights. Questions like scalpels—cutting, digging, never stopping until she's peeled back enough layers to feel satisfied. She doesn't care who you are. Your title. Your status. Your tired eyes or fake smile. She feeds off curiosity like it's oxygen. I once told her it might kill her one day. She laughed. Thought I was being sarcastic.

I wasn't.

I don't joke. I don't smile. And I don't talk unless I have to.

Outside, the night air curled around me, cool and clean. I headed straight for my car. The same one I've always used. Quiet engine. Tinted windows. Just another forgettable vehicle on a forgettable street. My delivery bike? That stayed at work. It was never meant to be part of this version of me.

I opened the passenger door and tossed the bag in. 

   Kim Juyoung's place wasn't far. Close enough to feel familiar, distant enough not to be suspicious. Twenty minutes later, I parked a few blocks away, where streetlights flickered like dying stars. I sat for a moment, letting silence settle in. Then I took the bag, pulled on a face cap and a nose mask I kept in the car, and stepped into the dark.

Only one room in his house was lit. A soft amber glow behind closed curtains. He was either settling in... or already dreaming.

Didn't matter. He wouldn't be seeing morning.

    I stayed to the shadows, every step deliberate. One thing I liked about this neighborhood: no cameras. No watchful lenses recording sins. Here, death could slip between buildings like smoke, unnoticed and unbothered. People kept to themselves. Which worked perfectly—for someone like me.

  I scaled the fence and landed soundlessly in the yard. The light was still on, which meant the back door would be open. I'd been watching him long enough to learn his patterns. He always locked the front door first. Then, before sleep, he'd turn off the lights and finally lock the back.

I was early. Perfect.

    The door creaked open under my hand—unlocked, just as I expected. I slipped inside and shut it behind me, the darkness wrapping around me like a familiar cloak. No lights. Just shadows and silence. Good. I work better in the dark. Always have. My eyes adjusted quickly, faster than most people's. Maybe it's biology. Maybe a cruel little gift from whatever god was watching when I was made.

I moved through the house like water, every footstep rehearsed. The only light came from his bedroom, a faint glow bleeding under the door. I didn't want to go in—not yet. Better if he came out.

     In the living room, I found a floor lamp and tipped it over. The crash wasn't loud, but it was sharp—enough. I stepped back, gloves already on, the blade in one hand, a length of wire in the other.

I crouched behind the couch.

Click.

The bedroom light went out. Then another click—hallway light on. He was coming.

"What the fuck..." I heard him mutter. Barefoot steps padded across the floor toward the lamp.

He never saw me coming.

     I surged forward and drove the blade into his neck. His gasp was more guttural than a scream, like air escaping a balloon too fast. The lamp fell again. His hands flew to his throat as if he could somehow push the blood back in.

Our eyes met.

"W–wh—"

I didn't let him finish.

The wire looped around his throat and I pulled, hard. He struggled, clawing at the tension cutting into him. Futile. He wasn't the first. And the last one had more muscle than this one. Didn't save him either.

      His eyes bulged. Blood sprayed in hot, pulsing arcs, staining my clothes as he gurgled something close to a plea. My grip never loosened. And with one last breath—he was gone.

He dropped like dead weight. Like a sack of potatoes, as people say. Dumb metaphor. But strangely fitting.

I stood over him, calm and still, lips twitching slightly. Not a smile. Just... release.

     I crouched again, drew a sharp 4 into his forehead with the blade, then took his fourth finger. Inside my bag, a plastic pouch waited—already holding three fingers, each carved with their number. I added this one, etched a crisp number four into it. Another for the collection.

"Thanks for the souvenir, dear Juyoung," I murmured.

     I dropped the wire on one side of his body, the blade on the other. I never took my weapons with me. Maybe that seems careless. Maybe it's even arrogant. But I like giving the police something to work with. Helps them feel like they're doing their job. I give them tools—but never the truth. Not a single clue that all this might lead back to a delivery man. A shadow. A ghost.

Emotion? Fear? I lost those ten years ago. They died with someone else.

   I walked into the bathroom, rinsed the gloves—blood swirling down the drain like red silk—then slipped out the way I came in. Fence. Shadows. Street. I got back into the car and then, like clockwork, I peeled off the blood-splattered shirt—still warm from the life it ended and put on the spare ones I always put in my car. I drove in silence.

    When I arrived at my building, I took off the cap and mask, leaving both in the car. Still used the back entrance. The thought of explaining anything to the night receptionist again made my skin itch. Not tonight.

The elevator ride was silent. Mechanical. I peeled off the gloves and placed them carefully in the bag as the floor number blinked. My unit. Home.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Dim lighting. Cool air. Milo lay asleep on the couch. That was new. He never sleeps before I come home—no matter how late. Guess even He has limits.

    I dropped the bag, pulled out the bloodied shirt, and tossed it in the laundry basket. The fresh one clung to me now like a second skin. Routine. Precision. Quiet.  I removed the gloves, and dropped them into a box with the others. The fingers went into a separate box. Then I stripped the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was hot, the steam thick. It slid over my skin like absolution.

When I finally crashed into bed, I pulled the blanket over my body and stared into the darkness.

Four down. Ten more to go.

 A/N

    Okay, second chapter finished. Please don't forget to vote if you liked it. I will try to update more so you won't have to wait too much

Chapter Text

JIMINs POV 

      I later got to know that the bulky guy and his annoying dog were new tenants . I should've guessed it the day I saw a truck outside the building two days before running into him, but honestly, I don't waste brain cells on other people's boring lives. Luckily, I haven't seen him in weeks now, which feels like an answered prayer.

    I nudged Milo out of the way with my foot as I bent to tie my black sneakers. He huffed like I'd just committed a crime against humanity. Typical. I could've waited until I got to the shop to change, but that always ended with the others dragging me into conversations I'd rather set myself on fire than sit through. At least at home, I could dress in peace.

    My uniform was nothing special: black polo with Halmeoni's Kitchen stitched in gold thread on the chest, a red zip-up delivery jacket, black cargo pants, and the cursed black cap with the same logo. Standard-issue humiliation. Then I grabbed my hooded trench coat and put it on. I always wear it especially if I'm dressing from home. I hate too much questions and I wasn't about to snap at someone today. 

     Milo nudged my leg again, tail wagging, eyes shining with that pathetic "feed me" look. "You've eaten twice already," I muttered, glaring down at him. "It's not even four yet." He tilted his head, unbothered, tongue lolling like he hadn't eaten in days. I caved—like always—only to realize the food bag was running low. The new pack I'd bought last week was on the highest shelf—still a mystery how it even got up there. Too much effort for me now. I poured the last of the old bag into his bowl. He dove in happily, I slipped out before he could realize I'd cheated him.

       The elevator hummed its way down to the lobby. The receptionist greeted me like she always did, and like always, I ignored her. Ritual. I sometimes wonder why she bothers.

  Outside, I headed straight for my car, took off the coat and put it in the back seat then entered the drivers seat. I braced myself for another shift at Halmeoni's Kitchen. The place was run by Mrs. Kang, a widow tough enough to make drill sergeants cry. After her husband died, she kept the shop afloat on her own. Four years ago, she finally hired delivery guys, and I signed up. Seven of us total. Six headaches plus me.

  Jackson's the loudest—he talks like the universe begged him for commentary. He thinks he's hilarious. He's not.

    BamBam's just as bad, only his obsession is nonsense. Once spent an entire shift explaining how his socks gave him "good energy." Riveting. They handle the morning rush from ten to four.

    Jeong-in is younger, stronger, and far too cheerful. The kid's basically a human golden retriever with biceps. He once challenged me to an arm-wrestle before I'd even said hello. I declined. Forever.

 Keeho's the sarcastic one. Everything out of his mouth sounds like a joke, though no one's sure if the punchline's at us or himself. I don't stick around to figure it out.

  Bang Chan? Too responsible. Always checking in, making sure we're fine. Caring people drain me the most.

 And Beomgyu—the walking disaster. He once taped my helmet shut. Nearly quit that day. He laughed until he cried.

    My shift overlapped with four of them. A nightmare in installments, every evening from four to nine—or ten if the orders piled up. And every month, Mrs. Kang hosted these "family gatherings" so we could "bond." Waste of oxygen.

Inside the shop, the chaos was already in full swing. Delivery bikes lined the curb, none seems to be taken—the others weren't here yet, no surprise. Through the window I saw Mrs. Kang at the counter, shouting orders with the force of a foghorn while pots boiled behind her. She spotted me immediately, smiling like I was the only sane one in the building.

"Afternoon, Jimin. Early, as always. Those kids never change," she said, shaking her head before turning back to her soup.

I barely had time to breathe before someone bellowed my name. I didn't need to look. Lara came barreling toward me with a two paper bags, waving it like a baton.

"Kim Taehyung! Apartment 3B, Hill Street," she announced, dumping it into my hands before spinning back to the counter. "And move it! Statue!"

   I rolled my eyes, already dreading the day and headed for my bike. Each one of us had our name engraved on the back to "avoid arguments." Didn't work. As I made my way to my bike, I could see some of the guys already coming and I groaned in frustration. They greeted me while Keeho stretched out a hand as they passed by, a setup I knew too well. I ducked before he could smack me, and he laughed like it was new. It wasn't. I opened the delivery carrier and dropped the bags in it then closed it and hopped on.

     Helmet on, engine running, I pulled out onto the street. Halfway down the block, My brain finally  caught up.

Hill Street. Apartment 3B. 

My building?

  Perfect. Just what I needed—forced interaction with my nosy neighbors. My coworkers were demons, sure. But my neighbors? They were worse. They didn't talk about themselves, didn't stay in their own lane. No, they poked, prodded, and pried like it was a sport. Ever since I set foot in Seoul, it felt like I'd been breathing secondhand chaos.

And now I had to deliver it, boxed and hot, straight to their door and i didnt even know which insane person this one would be.

 ———

         As I passed through the reception, I could feel the receptionist's stare drilling into the back of my head like she'd just discovered Bigfoot in a food delivery uniform. I didn't bother looking back — I already knew what that look meant. Later tonight, she'd stop me with her usual, "So, Jimin, I didn't know you worked there!" followed by a full-on interrogation. The woman treats curiosity like a sport. If gossip were an Olympic event, she'd have gold.

    I got into the elevator, and hallelujah — no one else stepped in. Small mercy. I hate when people ride with me. There's always that one person who decides the two-minute trip is the perfect time for "So, how's your day?" Like, ma'am, we live in the same building, not the same emotional wavelength.

    The elevator dinged, and I stepped out, repeating the apartment number Lara had given me. With every step down the hallway, dread crept in like a bad omen. My gut already knew before my brain did. And when I stopped in front of the door... yep. Of course. Of course it was the apartment right next to mine. 3B. The very same place I'd been blissfully pretending didn't exist for two peaceful months.

Perfect. The gods must be laughing right now.

I sighed so hard it could've powered a windmill. "How the hell did I not realize it'd be his apartment?" I muttered. "Mine's literally 3A." Even if I had noticed, what would it change? Lara would've sent me anyway. That woman has no soul — just caffeine and cruelty.

  I knocked once. No answer. Knocked again, louder this time. Finally, footsteps approached. The door opened, and standing there was... not him. Instead, I got some baby-faced guy wearing a black shirt and military camo pants, with a matching cap and tattoos all up his arm. His entire arm. Who even lets that happen in the army? Do they just look the other way at the tattoo shop?

"Delivery for Mr. Kim Taehyung," I said, leaning slightly to peek inside. Four other guys sat around in similar outfits. Not a single one was him. Or worse — his dog.

The guy at the door gave me a once-over that made me want to sneeze just to break eye contact. Then, before I could tell him to blink or something, I heard a familiar voice from inside.

"Jungkook! Who's at the door—"

 Oh, no. Nope. My luck can't be this bad. And yet... there he was. The man I'd prayed to the heavens never to see again, standing there in full military glory. The universe must have a sense of humor.

   He saw me — and for some reason, his eyes lit up. Why? Beats me. His expression shifted to his friend. "Why are you just standing there? You couldn't say someone was here?"

  Jungkook rolled his eyes, smirked at me (weirdly smug for no reason), and strutted away like he owned the hallway. Meanwhile, Taehyung came closer, giving me a once-over that lasted a little too long. His lips parted in this soft "oh," like he just remembered what delivery men were.

   This was taking way too long. I could've built an empire in the time it took this guy to blink.

    "Are you Mr. Kim Taehyung?" I asked, dead inside. He nodded, and I shoved the food at him like it was a live grenade. He chuckled — chuckled! — while taking it.

"I must've kept you waiting too long, huh?"

I gave him a look that said 'say another word and I'll commit a misdemeanor.' He smiled anyway. And still. Just stood there. Staring.

    What's wrong with these people? Is this a staring competition or a food delivery?

  I cleared my throat, trying to keep my tone civil. Mrs Kang would murder me if she heard I'd snapped at a customer again. "Not to be rude, but are you gonna pay me so I can go, or...?"

  His eyes widened like he just realized money exists. He was about to say something — and then I heard it.

The footsteps. The growl. The chaos.

  Before I could even blink, something launched itself at me like a furry missile, and next thing I knew — I was on the damn floor.

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.

"Kim Chew!" Taehyung shouted.

Kim Chew?! I froze. Who names their dog that Why not Kim Bark? Or Kim Bite? Hell, Kim Chaos fits better.

  The demon hound sat on my chest, tail wagging like we were best friends, licking my face like I was a giant lollipop. "Get off him!" Taehyung yelled, finally pulling the beast away.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Let me help you up—" He reached out a hand, and because I'm apparently a masochist, I took it. But karma, as usual, was faster. My foot slipped, and bam— we both hit the ground again. This time, with him landing squarely on top of me.

If I could disappear, I would.

   I groaned, closing my eyes. "Yup. Today's officially in my top ten worst life moments."

"Oh! Are you okay?" Taehyung asked, still half on top of me.

Bro. Move first.

    Before I could say anything (and it probably would have been a curse), laughter exploded from inside the apartment. Loud. Unashamed. That finally made him roll off me, muttering, "Shut up!" toward whoever was laughing.

  He offered me a hand again. I stared at it like it was cursed. No way was I falling for that twice. I got up on my own, brushing invisible dust off my clothes like it was a ritual for cleansing bad luck.

  The laughter culprit wasn't Jungkook this time — it was some tall, gorgeous dude holding the paper bags and grinning like he'd just watched a romcom. "Came to grab this," he said, waving the bags, "but honestly, this is way more entertaining. Nice one, Taehyung~." He let out another laugh before walking away.

   I glanced at Taehyung, who looked one eye-roll away from throwing something. His gaze snapped back to me.

"I'll get your money. Give me a sec." He disappeared inside and, of course, shut the door — right in my face.

Classic.

   I stood there, fuming, as another round of laughter echoed from behind the door. Great. I was now dinner entertainment.

   After two painfully long minutes, the door opened again. Taehyung handed me the cash. I snatched it like it was holy water, turned on my heel, and made a beeline for the elevator before he could open his mouth again.

     As I reached the elevator, I heard the door close behind me and sighed in relief. "Never again," I muttered. "If she sends me here one more time, I'm quitting. Or faking my death. Maybe both."