Minseok stayed in that desolate room for a long time afterwards. He untied Jongin from the chair, feeling the clamminess and death that had already taken root in the corpse. He laid the body on the concrete ground and knelt by it, not sure what to do. Gently closing the lifeless eyes and studied the boy, he took in the still features, the unruly hair, the fragile eyelashes, resting on sculpted cheekbones, down to the plump lips, to the prominent collarbones, and down . . . He tried to ignore the mess of raw meat and bloody wounds that he himself had inflicted on the boy, but it was so hard.

The slashes had torn apart Jongin's body like a mad painter destroying the world with a brush of fury. It didn't look like a body anymore, but instead pulp. Minseok didn't remember doing so much, creating such gore and he swallowed thickly, eyes flitting back to Jongin's face. Despite everything, it was serene, but dejected, as if he had already resigned to his fate before Minseok shot him.

Sitting cross-legged and interlocking his fingers with Jongin's, Minseok sighed. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. But it was too late.

The answer to that one last question was yes. "Yes, I love you," he stated, a sob threatening to escape from him. "Kim Jongin!" he cried, desperate voice echoing in the cellar. "I loved you. Love you. Love-"

He broke off. It was too late. What was the point in confessing his wrong love, his deadly love, to a corpse?

There was no point. The deed was done and everyone who deserved to die was dead. People who didn't deserve to die but stood in the way were dead too. Minseok should feel accomplished, satisfied. The one he hated was gone and no other meaningless deaths would happen. He could stop now. But he wanted to scream, throw a tantrum like a child, destroy a city and kill more. But that was not the point.

He sat there in silence, motionless, holding his dead lover's hand.

His outburst had surprised himself. He had thought himself aual and aromantic. was a crude way to assert dominance and love made one vulnerable.  

But he remembered Jongin's innocent enthusiasm at the littlest things, like a puppy. The way his entire face lit up whenever Minseok did something. The way he pouted, thinking aegyo could fix his problems. The way his eyes shone when describing the things he loved. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he laughed when he teased Minseok.

The way he said "Soo," and always caused Minseok to blush even though he hated that name and what it meant.

The way he always looked at Minseok.

It was never supposed to happen, but it was ironic.

Jongin wasn't supposed to fall for his target, but he did and then he died.

Hate could come from love, and apparently, love could come from hate too. Kyungsoo was supposed to be the one in love. but somehow Minseok also developed feelings for the boy. He wasn't supposed to fall for his enemy, but he did and now he had sat there for over an hour, the hand he was holding now stiff and unfeeling. He was supposed to be unfeeling, but maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was. Who cared about what was supposed to happen? Who cared about what they wanted? They were only human, only nothing.

Maybe in another life things could have been different. He thought back to what Jongin had said. He wanted to live a life without blood and death. Wouldn't that be nice? If Minseok wasn't plagued by nightmares, plagued by so many things, haunted by so many memories . . . they might have had a better life, a life. 

He didn't know what to do now.

He could kill himself and join Jongin, he supposed. But would Jongin even want him after all this? Could he face all the people he had killed? Because he really had so much blood in his hands. It never was his intention to become this monster, but no one was born a monster. Things happen, people change. So he could only keep living, bringing with him this horrible regret and guilt on his conscience, committing more sins, accumulating more guilt until his finale.

Minseok's thoughts jumbled into a storm but he remained motionless.

A lone tear slipped out from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek, plopping onto Jongin's hand. Minseok let go momentarily to wipe it away and Jongin's hand fell listlessly onto the ground with a dead clunk. The sound echoed and jolted Minseok back into reality.

The reality was that he was still the leader of the murderous group he had created. He was in charge of people and, as morbid as it was, he was responsible for their livelihoods. He glanced back at Jongin's body and let out a deep breath. 

It was over.

Everything that had happened in the past three months was a whirlwind. Minseok had surprisingly been happy, happier than he had ever been, but it didn't change anything. It was over now and Minseok had to forget it. He knelt down, looking over Jongin. If he left this cellar, he would have to forget everything and move on. So, to prolong the end for just a second longer, he studied his lover's features one last time.

Jongin was so beautiful. 

He didn't deserve this life, he didn't deserve to be thrown into this, he didn't deserve to have to become a "psychopathic serial killer" and find pride in that. He didn't deserve to have caught Minseok's attention; Minseok didn't deserve his blind trust and love.

His inner turmoil had gone on for too long, Minseok realized, when he tried standing up and all he could were pins and needles. He dropped back down to his knees and leaned in.

"I loved you, Jongin," he whispered. 

Past tense.

It would truly have to be over now.

He lowered his body and kissed those beautiful, dead lips. "Goodbye, my love," he murmured, fully feeling the cold reality. 

With some difficulty, he straightened and turned away. 

Everything behind him -- the ruined corpse, the kisses shared, the cuddling, the dates, the memories -- was now in a past he could never return to.

He walked and his hand rested on the door handle, still trying to stall. He fished out his phone and dialed a number.

"Yes, Master?" the voice on the other side greeted him.

"Come and clean up this place."

"Yes, Master."

Taking a deep breath, Minseok pushed open the door, sunlight blinding him, burning the darkness and the tears away.

Goodbye.

May we never meet again.