Chapter 2: The Scar That Spoke

Morning came sluggishly, filtered through grimy curtains and the dull ache of too many unanswered questions. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling in his lap. The wound on his neck throbbed—a sharp, pulsing reminder that the night before hadn't been a dream.

He pulled back the collar of his shirt to study the mark. It wasn’t just a bite. It was deep, angry, almost ritualistic. Bruised edges framed two punctures, and a faint halo of gray spread beneath the skin. The ache wasn't just physical. It was inside him—a longing, an emptiness that called out to the night.

He hadn't imagined Jungkook.

And now he couldn't escape him.

The apartment, once a haven of shared laughter and cozy evenings, now felt like a mausoleum. The photos of their wedding still hung on the wall: Taehyung in white silk, Jungkook beaming beside him under a halo of roses. He'd never taken them down, even after the accident. He couldn't. Jungkook had always been the love that defined him.

But now love had returned as hunger.

The doorbell rang.

Taehyung flinched, heart leaping to his throat. He hadn’t seen anyone in weeks. He padded barefoot to the door and opened it slightly, just enough to peek through the crack.

It was an old woman from upstairs. Mrs. Yoon. She peered at him with wary eyes.

“Taehyung, dear. You alright? You look pale.”

He forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She nodded, though her gaze lingered. “Heard some noises last night. Strange ones. Almost like crying… and someone else talking. Thought you were alone, dear.”

Taehyung said nothing.

After she left, he bolted the door and sank to the floor. He knew what he had to do.

He needed answers. He needed proof.

That night, he set up an old camcorder in the corner of the room. A relic from their honeymoon days, its battery barely held a charge, but it would have to do. If Jungkook came again, he would capture it. Capture him.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Taehyung dressed in his old sleepwear—the one Jungkook used to love. He lay in bed, body tense, every nerve on fire with fear and expectation.

The air grew still. Cold.

Then…

Movement.

He felt the bed dip. Heard the whisper of fabric.

“Why are you filming me?” Jungkook’s voice was gentle, but laced with warning.

Taehyung turned his head slowly.

Jungkook was there.

Not a ghost. Not quite human. But solid enough to touch.

“I need to know,” Taehyung whispered. “If you’re real. If this is a curse or a second chance.”

Jungkook leaned down, resting his forehead against Taehyung’s.

“It’s both,” he murmured. “But it was your love that kept me tethered. Don’t you see? I didn’t come back to haunt you. I came back to keep you.”

Taehyung’s breath hitched.