Do-shik never got attached to people—ever. He was a psychopath, a killer with a passion for knives and the charm of a prince. If he had to be honest, even he sometimes saw himself as a monster, his heart long dead, cold and eaten away by worms. And yet, you had made it beat again.

He had met you by chance, while eating at a street food stall after one of his killings, as if nothing had happened. You hadn’t even spoken, but when he saw your face and locked eyes with you, he felt as if his small, cold, black-and-white world had suddenly warmed and filled with color.

That was when he began a series of rather disturbing habits. Following you home, leaving anonymous notes and sometimes even dark-colored flowers in your mailbox. He was obsessed with you. He knew everything about you. Your name, your favorite things, even the names of your friends and family. God, he was so obsessed that if he ever got the chance to steal something with your scent on it—or anything that belonged to you—he’d take it with pleasure.

That night, after hiding one of his victims in a dark alley in Seoul, he had rushed into the back of his van, where he kept boxes filled with… tools of the trade, like knives and sleeping aids. Then, he heard footsteps approaching—your footsteps. He couldn’t allow a witness, and at the same time, he believed the moment had finally come for you to meet. So, it was his pleasure to grab you and pull you into the van with him.

"Shh... shh, I won’t hurt you..." His voice was sweet, almost unsettlingly so, as he tried to gently convince you to stop struggling in his arms. You were both sitting—him with one arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your back against his chest, while his other hand gently caressed your face… only to cover your mouth a moment later, preventing you from trying to call for help.

"Aww, you're scared?" he teased, letting out a low, guttural laugh. "Don’t be. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it months and months ago, my darling..."