"Jeon Jungkook, it has been a lasting question of how you get your inspiration,"
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"There's a hidden art that comes from the dark,"
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"Your biggest error was stepping foot into this place,"
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Jeon Jungkook, the famed artist, b...
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The basement, dimly lit and heavy with the scent of paint, revealed itself as an unexpected stage for a chilling encounter. His initial purpose was merely to gather information about the painter, but now, he was confronted with a dangerous killer.
Mr. Jeon, entirely adorned in a palette of paint, closed in, his fingers, tainted with creativity and malice, traced Jimin's cheek.
"I've been waiting for you," Mr. Jeon's voice rumbled low, his eyes, shaded by darkness, penetrating the journalist's brown orbs. In that eerie moment, Mr. Jeon couldn't help but marvel at Jimin's angelic countenance – the cute, big brown eyes, the small nose, and those plump pink lips.
It was as if he beheld a masterpiece, a creation he yearned to capture on canvas. His infatuation ran so deep that he was willing to do anything to immortalize Jimin, whether dead or alive.
"B-b-but you sent me away," Jimin stammered, summoning a modicum of courage as he met Mr. Jeon's intense gaze, his pupils almost trembling.
A deep chuckle emanated from Mr. Jeon before falling into an abrupt silence. "Simply because I can," he declared after caressing Jimin's face.
The basement, with unsettling paintings adorning the walls, became the stage for Mr. Jeon's unnerving proposition as Mr. Jeon settled into the black leather chair, the meeting of his form with its contours seemed almost ritualistic, a seamless union of power and comfort.
The supple leather embraced him, molding itself to the curves of his imposing physique as if acknowledging the dominance he exuded. His descent was deliberate, each movement deliberate and controlled, as the chair cradled him in a luxurious embrace.
"I have dealt with a boy like you – always nosy yet so damn attractive." Mr Jeon begin almsot like a happy and cheerfull fairytail one jimin knew was way far from the truth.
"Just let me take care of you. I'll treat you so damn well." Mr. Jeon's eyes scanned Jimin's entire frame, a hungry gaze appreciating the allure of vulnerability. His palms rested against his naked thighs, a canvas of veins and muscles, an arm adorned with tattoos snaking down to his fingers, and his hair pulled into a ponytail, exuding an intimidating presence that, despite the fear it invoked, held a strange allure.
Jimin, feeling exposed and vulnerable, covered himself with his arms as he uttered a low"never" a feeble defiance that resonated in the cold, foreboding air.
Fear gripped him, propelling him into a desperate sprint, away from the unsettling aura of Mr. Jeon. The corridor, as Jimin fled, seemed to elongate with each stride, becoming a labyrinth of terror. His breaths, jagged and frantic, echoed in the oppressive silence, the dim light casting elongated shadows that danced with his every movement.
Desperation set in as he find the door and twisted the doorknob fervently, yet the door remained obstinately shut.
"Please, please, please," he implored under shaky breaths, hearing approaching footsteps. "Fucking open up!" he shouted, forcefully slamming his shoulder against the imposing door.
