“you promised me,” she breathes-- and she’s like a fire; scorching in her stare. hair askew on her head, tear stains down her cheeks. her skin is red with humiliation, with anger. she’s trembling in a way yoongi finds so appealing he can’t help but watch her in muted awe. “you-- you promised, nothing would get out. you swore to me that he wouldn’t find out and he did! he did, and now i’m ruined! he’s going to call of the engagement, he’s going to dump me, and you show up acting as if you haven’t ruined everything!”

“i’m sorry,” he says. lies come easy, always have and always will. “i was angry. i was upset-- it was wrong of me. i just wanted to get back at him-- at her, and i used you for it. i shouldn’t have,” maybe he should feel worse about it. but there’s nothing but satisfaction curling in his gut. the sight of her crying makes him twinge, his fingers twitch. he lifts up a hand, extending out to graze his fingertips on her arm. “noona-- i just wanted to rile him up. he put me in a bad place, so i did it to him. was what that so wrong?”

“yoongi!” she sounds exasperated. her hands are tugging at her hair; yoongi forcefully shoves aside the thought that he wants to do that for her. “do you hear yourself? that’s-- that’s too much! you can’t just...you can’t just use me for your own game! that’s...that’s not right! you don’t use people like that, you can just fucking use me!”

“i’m sorry,” he says again, his eyes falling downcast. he blinks down at the ground, and takes one step, then two. gentle fingers grasp around a dainty wrist, and he brings it up to his face. presses her hand against his cheek and studies the floor, before twisting his head slightly to kiss at her wrist. “i’m sorry. i wanted him to hurt-- i still do, and i used you for it. i’m sorry you’re hurt, i only wanted to hurt him.”

“two wrongs don’t make a right. you’re not a child anymore, that shouldn’t have to be taught to you.” she says, breathless and watching. her hand trembles under his grip, and she makes a weak (feeble, weak, fake) attempt to pull herself away. “your brother did wrong, yes. i agree, i agree with you-- but god, this was too much. this was a step overboard. and your sister-- god, unnie, i’m so sorry. you did so wrong to her and for what?” 

he lets her go when she pulls away, and his expression is pained, a faux expression of it as he watches her turn. wrap her arms around herself and stagger away from him. he approaches her slowly, follows her as she pushes open the doors to the balcony. she breathes; in and out, in and out. shamelessly, he watches her form as she does-- trails eyes down curves he’s familiar with. his steps are slow, careful and quiet as he reaches out for her. arms wrap around her from behind, and he clutches her like a lifeline. face shoves into her neck as he inhales, breathes in such a familiar scent; it smells like him, not his brother-- and that sick twist of satisfaction in his gut nearly makes him moan out loud at the thought. 

“yoongi,” her voice is tired, exasperated. her hand reaches up to wrap around his arms crossed over her chest. she doesn’t tug him away, and that’s all yoongi really needs to know. “not again. we can’t do this. you can’t do this again.”

“i’ll fix it,” he murmurs, lips pressing the softest of kisses on the slope of her neck. “i promise. i’ll fix it. i’ll fix it for you, noona. you won’t be ruined, i’ll take care of you.” he pulls himself away to turn her around. hands press and they slide, up her sides over her chest to her neck and the sides of her face. he stares down at her, face lowering-- mouths brushing as he hums into her mouth. “i’ll take care of you, i swear it.”

and she’s always been so sweet, so easy. a child starved for attention, throwing herself to the first man that will give her the time of day. stuck in the chambers of his brother’s bedrooms with a ring on her finger-- promises of luxury but only a mere trophy wife. used for looks and nothing else; pretty and sweet but expendable at best. it’s why it was so simple, so easy for yoongi to slide right in and make himself at home; for him to take and take from her and she gives all too willingly.

she’s the type of girl he could have learned to love, if he hadn’t been so ready to toss the idea out of his head the moment he could.

he kisses her like she means something; she kisses him like he’s the first oasis in a desert that’s too expansive. she clutches and writhes under his touch-- and it’s so fucking easy the way he backs her up. presses her up against the railing of the balcony. how fucking easy she is the way she lets him hoist her right up on the railing-- teeth and lips working their way down her neck as she whines and whimpers in his ear.

when he pulls away to breathe, he lets his gaze fall upon her. an angel descended right into hell-- wings tossed away to indulge in the temptation of the devil; red cheeks and a heaving chest, glazed eyes and swollen lips. neck bruised all pretty and yoongi knows the closest he feels to love is probably in this moment; when she looks debauched and brazen-- feeble and wanting and broken. her hands climb, needy, scratch up his chest until they cup his neck-- his name on her mouth in a way that should set any man on fire. that should have him crawling back for more.

he wonders if it’s something in his stare that off-sets her in that moment. her brows pinch and furrow-- and he sees the confusion, the realization of everything settling in; her position, and his own-- her hands retreat but his are quicker to grab her. a tight grip around her dainty wrists, fragile bones. the panic seizes in her face and she trembles as he presses closer to her. 

“yoongi,” she breathes. there’s a tone to her voice; like a child, curious and full of such incredulous fear it almost makes him shudder. “w-what are you thinking about?”

he blinks at her. the slow, careful movement of his eyes as he takes her in. she attempts to tug her hands away, and he flexes his hands around her. not too tight to bruise, but enough for her to realize the warning. 

“i figured it out, noona.” he says. his voice is quiet, thoughtful. a small smile crosses his face. “how i’m going to fix it.”

maybe it’s something in his voice that off-puts her. but she’s not quick enough, not smart enough. he dips down to give her a kiss that keeps her quiet, and she whimpers against his mouth-- teeth brushing against lips as he exhales shakily into her mouth. his hands drift from her wrists down to her thighs, nails biting into her skin.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs one more time-- and she doesn’t have a chance to scream when he pushes her back by her thighs; he watches, eyes blank as her body topples backwards-- her hands are extending, and her body falls, falls, falls.

a body against concrete isn’t as loud as he’s expecting. the fall isn’t that high, truth be told; but there’s too many decorations, too many chances to hit something on the way down.

her body looks pretty in the midst of the garden, and he can see from the high angle the red that makes a halo around her head-- oozing and dripping from leaves the longer he stares. lifeless eyes stare back up at him. it’s the most beautiful she’s looked, and if he didn’t love her then, he loves her just a bit more now.

he’s meticulous about it when he drags his eyes from her corpse. things are cleaned the way he knows she likes; things are left in partciular places-- and he writes a note in such a pretty script he’s seen on documents and in letters. the way he remebers her fingertips draw images on her skin. he formulates an apology to his brother ( from her, it says, signed with love and it makes him sick) and tucks it away in their bedroom for safe keeping. he orchestrates the entire thing to look everything unlike it was; and mouths are shut with money that his presence will never be uttered to be near this room within the last twenty-four hours.

yoongi wonders if this is the start of his fall. the start of the descent. they often say in order to become a monster, you have to get rid of all the things you’ve ever held near and dear to you.