We graduated about a year later, and started making serious plans for our big move to Seoul. Jimin would be going to college, I would be aiming to expand my career in music. We had left the orphanage simply because we were to old to remain there, instead living in our own small apartment.

It was all good and well until I walked in on Jimin crying. Again. I could feel the urge to hurt whatever had done this growing within me.

I sat down beside him, holding him, waiting for him to tell me what was wrong. Over the next ten minutes, he explained how one of the 'friends' he had made after Bwohya's mysterious disappearance was spreading rumors.

This dolt was saying that Jimin was so thirsty he would sleep with anyone who showed the slightest hint of interest. This, strangely, Jimin claimed he could deal with. What had sent him to tears was the lie that he had killed Bwohya, his 'classic high school crush tragedy.'

Jimin poured it all out, sobbing against my chest. "Why is it that whenever I get close to someone... they-they... they just hurt me?" he shook with broken, hiccupping breath, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. "You're the only one that's really been there for me Yoongi. Thank you." I felt tears rise in my own eyes. How could anyone ever even dream of hurting an angel like Jimin?

I was already planning exactly how I would kill this most recent dunce. I get to my feet, but Jimin must've seen the anger in my eyes.

"Please, Yoongi, don't get involved. We're leaving in two weeks to go to Seoul, it won't matter. Please, stay here." I couldn't say no, so I let Jimin drag me to the couch and slot in one of his favorite movies. I had seen it enough times I could laugh in all the right parts while I planned the death of this new, twisted person who dared hurt Jimin.

A week and a half later I had finally gotten into contact with this 'friend' of Jimin's. I had invited him out to one of my favorite coffee shops and she had accepted. I made conversation as best as I could, trying my hardest to make it seem as if I was genuinely interested in her. After the third cup of coffee, she excused herself to the restroom. As she disappeared, I slipped the poison I'd finally managed to find on the black market yesterday into her half-cup of coffee.

When she got back, she downed the rest of her latte and bid me farewell, leaving without ever suspecting a thing. After finishing the remements of my coffee, I left as well. Jimin and I moved to our new apartment in Seoul the next day. Two days after, news arrived that the friend that I had drugged had died of heart failure while in the subway.

When the news came in, I expected emotion from Jimin. Instead, all he said was, "She certainly had bad enough karma to account for it."

After that, things settled down. I was able to start writing and producing music for a big-name company. Jimin finished college in just three years, and started to work in the small café near our apartment. It was a temporary job until he could find a job that fit his major. But it was it at this tiny café that Jimin met Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook was still in college, only two years younger than Jimin. He was majoring in Art and the café was his place of study, meaning he sat in the same corner everyday. Naturally Jimin learned his name, then began to talk to him frequently. Jungkook was like a bunny, unbelievably cute and funny. Jimin loved his art, constantly commenting on and complimenting it. Once after a particularly sweet session of art review Jungkook left abruptly. The next day he cam back with dark circles under his eyes and a beautiful painting of Jimin. The older loved it so much he took it and hung it in his room.

After that, I began to worry. I already knew about Jungkook, but the painting seemed to cross a line. I asked Jimin about it and felt something within me growl as I watched a blush creep across his cheeks. I asked Jimin if I could meet him, Jimin invited him over, and soon enough I was seated across from Jeon Jungkook. I was friendly. Jungkook seemed like a nice kid. But something about the way Jimin was blushing and giggling at every word from Jungkook did not sit well with me. And the way Jimin's arms somehow continued to find their way around Jungkook's arms made me want to puke into my kimchi-gu.

After the first night, Jimin, Jungkook, and I met a few more times. With every meeting, however, I grew to hate the boy even more. Jimin and Jungkook were practically glued at the hip, and they weren't even dating.

Why would Jimin do this? Didn't he say it himself? Anytime anyone gets close to him, they hurt him. Why was Jimin getting so close to Jungkook? Wasn't I the only exception the rule? Because I would never hurt Jimin, never. So why was he getting close to Jungkook? Finally I decided. Jungkook was seducing Jimin. Therefore, I would have to kill Jungkook before he inevitably hurt my perfect Jimin.

It was a Wednesday, the only day Jungkook walked home alone from University. It was late, as usual, for the 'smart' students' classes were later in the day. I waited and watched. When Jungkook walked out the building, I slipped out of the cranny where I had been hiding and began to tail him. It was pitch black, so the boy didn't notice me following him until he heard my footsteps. After he heard, Jungkook started walking faster- then he broke in a run. Unfortunately for him, I knew the neighborhood far better. I dashed around through a shortcut and cut him off. When Jungkook saw that it was only me, he relaxed a little. I wanted to laugh aloud. Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but I shoved him against the wall before he could even utter the first syllable, knocking him out.

I swung him across my back and felt my way to the place I had picked to bury the kid. About the time we arrived Jungkook started to come to, struggling and kicking. I threw him the ground and straddled his waist. I pulled a knife out of my jacket before tossing the worthless garment away. I pressed the freshly sharped edge of the knife to Jungkook's throat , applying a tiny amount of pressure.

I stared down at his terrified face and felt a stab of pity, though I chuckled at heart. "Jungkook, you were a genuinely nice kid, but there are people who I thought were nice that hurt my Jiminnie really badly. That's why I'm doing this. If I don't then you will just hurt him and then I would have to do it later. This way we can skip the whole part where Jimin gets hurt. Besides, I really don't like the way he looks at you."

Jungkook tried to speak, but I slammed the knife into his right arm. "Nu uh, if you make any sounds I will drag this out a lot longer. If you're good, I'll end it quickly."

Jungkook's eyes were filling with tears and he was biting his lip so hard that beads of blood had formed there. but it was nothing compared to his arm. Jungkook nodded, and I dragged the knife from his throat down to his wrist, then around his bicep. "Ya know, Kookie," I used the pet name with venom coursing through it, "I really hate you arms. Every time you would say anything, even just slightly amusing, Jimin would cling to them like lifesavers. It was truly nauseating to watch."

He was still trembling when I drove the knife deep into his left arm. From his wrist to his shoulder I tore open his sleeve, his skin, his flesh. Bright red blood oozed out, soaking my jeans. I sighed as I felt Jungkook sobbing silently beneath me. "It must be hard to keep quiet. Do you want me to go ahead and kill you?" Jungkook nodded vigorously, tears spilling over onto his cheeks, mixing with the blood from his lips. "Well," I muttered, "I suppose it is the least I could do, since you technically didn't hurt Jimin. Jungkook, I hope in your next life you don't meet me or Jimin. At least then you'll have a chance."

That was the last thing Jungkook heard before my knife collided with the soft, smooth skin of his neck. As I watched the blood spurt out of his neck, I felt all the anger that had been boiling within me overflow. I jerked the knife out of Jungkook's neck and scooted over, slamming it repeatedly into his chest, shoulders, and stomach. There was so much blood that once there was nothing left I could tear apart my entire body was soaked with coppery stuff. I rolled his body into the pre-dug hole and pushed the dirt back over the spot. Then I re-parked the broken car over the spot. Before I left I snatched up my jacket, careful to hide my clothes and face on my way home even in the darkness.

When I got home Jimin was long asleep. He had always gone to bed early. I took my jacket off and made my way to bathroom. Locking the door, I slipped of my clothes and looked in the mirror. Jungkook's blood was caked in my hair, dried onto my hands and chest. Yet I didn't feel remorse. I did not feel guilt. I felt pride. Excitement. This was the most alive I had felt in years.

Over the next few weeks, Jimin never mentioned Jungkook. The painting still hung in his room, but Jimin had no idea what had happened. He was happy, and so was I. In fact, Jimin seemed to smile, even cling more to me.

I was in heaven.