The next day felt like a strange aftertaste — one that didn't quite settle right in Yoon Bum's chest. The soup had been real. The words had been real. Sangwoo's quiet, almost pained admission about his mother had lingered in the air, thick and haunting. Yet, Yoon Bum couldn't shake the feeling that everything, every moment, was just another twisted game. Another façade.
Sangwoo had let him out of the cage. Let him eat, let him breathe. Let him believe that maybe — just maybe — the violence was over.
But Yoon Bum knew better.
It wasn't over. It never would be.
Yoon Bum had spent hours after the meal sitting in the corner, watching Sangwoo move through the apartment. He hadn't spoken much. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore, but it was suffocating. Too many things were left unspoken.
Around midnight, when the apartment felt cold despite the heater running, Sangwoo finally spoke again.
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"
Yoon Bum hesitated, eyes darting to the floor. He couldn't look at Sangwoo directly. Not now. Not after what had been said.
"What?" he whispered, but his voice shook, betraying him.
Sangwoo smirked. It wasn't his usual predatory grin — it was smaller, almost tired.
"About my mother. About the soup."
Yoon Bum's throat tightened. He nodded, but it wasn't a full admission. He didn't know how to admit that the night before, for a split second, he'd almost felt something for Sangwoo — something other than fear.
"Don't make that face, Bum-ah," Sangwoo said, voice still light, almost playful. "You look like you're going to cry."
Yoon Bum clenched his fists, not because he was angry, but because he was afraid of what would happen if he let go of that control. If he let himself feel pity for this monster sitting in front of him.
"You said it was the anniversary…" Yoon Bum said softly, almost without thinking. His heart raced in his chest, and he regretted it immediately. "What did she… what did she die from?"
Sangwoo's eyes darkened, the smile slipping off his face.
"You don't need to know that," he said sharply, his voice cold.
Yoon Bum recoiled, but Sangwoo's tone wasn't laced with anger. It was flat. Empty. And that scared him more than anything.
For a moment, Sangwoo just stared at him, his gaze colder than usual. Then, in a sudden shift, he rose from the couch and moved toward the window.
"She died because I wasn't good enough," Sangwoo murmured to himself, as if Yoon Bum wasn't even there.
Yoon Bum felt the air in the room shift again, the tension crackling like electricity. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should say anything. The last thing he wanted was to provoke Sangwoo into another one of his violent outbursts.
But, deep down, Yoon Bum couldn't ignore the small voice in his head — the one that whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Sangwoo than what he showed on the surface. Maybe he was more than just the monster Yoon Bum had been forced to see.
"I was supposed to protect her," Sangwoo continued, his voice softer now, but still distant. "I couldn't. I couldn't save her. And now… now it's too late."
Yoon Bum watched him, unsure what to feel. Was this some twisted manipulation? Or was it the broken, desperate truth?
"You're not a monster," Yoon Bum said before he could stop himself. The words felt wrong as soon as they left his mouth.
Sangwoo turned to look at him, his gaze hardening. But instead of the usual fury, there was a flicker of something else — something darker.
"You really think that?" Sangwoo asked, almost mockingly.
Yoon Bum couldn't look away. He felt like he was sinking deeper, caught in a trap he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried.
"I…"
Before he could finish the sentence, Sangwoo's eyes flashed, and the cold smile returned.
"You've been a good little toy, Bum-ah," Sangwoo said, walking over to him slowly. "Maybe you deserve a reward. Or maybe…"
Sangwoo leaned in, his breath warm against Yoon Bum's ear.
"Maybe I'll show you just how much of a monster I can be."
Yoon Bum froze, terror clawing at his chest. But something twisted in his stomach — a strange, sickening flutter. Fear. Curiosity. Maybe even a little bit of hope.
End of Chapter 2.