The air in the apartment was heavy — not from blood this time, but from silence.
Yoon Bum sat on the cold wooden floor, arms wrapped around his legs, his thin frame barely clothed. His eyes lingered on the kitchen, where Sangwoo moved quietly, rhythmically, as if he were someone else tonight. No knives. No ropes. No cruel smirks. Just a pot of soup simmering on the stove.
Yoon Bum didn't dare speak. Any sound could shatter the moment, and he wasn't ready to bleed again.
He hadn't eaten in… what? Two days? Maybe three. Time meant nothing here.
Sangwoo's voice broke the silence.
"Do you want some?"
Yoon Bum's head snapped up. His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. Was it a trick?
Sangwoo didn't look back. He ladled the soup into two bowls, the aroma drifting through the air — warm, almost comforting. Yoon Bum's stomach growled, loudly. Embarrassing.
Sangwoo chuckled, just a little.
"I'll take that as a yes."
He placed a bowl in front of Yoon Bum, then sat down across from him with his own. No chain. No warning.
Just soup.
Yoon Bum stared at the bowl, hands trembling. His mind raced.
Is it poisoned? Boiling hot? Spiked with something?Will he laugh the moment I take a bite? Will I die choking while he watches?
But hunger won.
He took a careful sip.
It was… good. Warm. Too normal.
"You're shaking," Sangwoo said, casually blowing on his own spoonful. "Do you think I'd waste poison on soup?"
Yoon Bum didn't answer. He kept eating, small bites, scared to finish too fast — scared the kindness would vanish if he seemed too grateful.
Sangwoo leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs. His expression had softened. Not completely — never completely — but just enough to unsettle Yoon Bum in a different way.
"You're waiting for me to snap, huh?"
The spoon paused at Yoon Bum's lips.
Sangwoo's eyes narrowed slightly, then drifted away.
"I'm not going to. Not tonight."
A pause.
"Tonight's different."
Yoon Bum set the spoon down. His voice barely escaped his mouth.
"Why?"
Sangwoo stared at the ceiling. His face blank, then slowly crumpling — just a little — like a mask slipping.
"It's her death anniversary."
The words hit like cold water.
"Your… mother?"
Sangwoo nodded. There was no smile this time.
"She used to make this soup. Every year. Before everything went to hell."
Yoon Bum felt his heartbeat slow. The room didn't feel like a cage for a second. It felt like something more tragic. More human. More dangerous, even.
"So…" Sangwoo sighed. "I pretend she's still here. That I'm still that good boy she wanted."
Silence again. Not thick with fear, but with mourning. Neither of them knew what to say.
For the first time in months, Sangwoo didn't look like a killer. And Yoon Bum didn't feel like prey.
They just sat there. In the dark. Two broken souls, eating soup, pretending they weren't monsters.