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Summary
“You aren’t dreaming Joon-ah, turn on the light.”
Namjoon did as the voice asked, his fingers shaking. The room was flooded with light from the wall lamps. His throat closed up.
He didn’t know what scared him more. Was it the person he had thought was a relic of his past, who sat in the armchair in the corner of the room? Was it that his dark suit was covered in blood? Or was it the handgun he was pointing at him while wearing a familiar wry smile?
“Like I said, this is a mess,” Seokjin said, “And I need you to help me clean it up.”