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Summary
Minho was nine years old the first time he took a life. It wasn’t anything big, not to him, just an injured rabbit he found in the forest. He picked it apart bit by bit, studied it. Took it apart until it was nothing but shredded meat and tiny fragile bones in his hands. It was mercy, he told himself as much, the poor thing was suffering, and he had saved it, set it free.
This? What he’s doing now? This feels like rage. The kind of rage that frees you when you act on it. The kind that feels like a breath of fresh air. Rage that had been building and building for as long as he can remember. Every small life taken quelling it momentarily, but not enough.
Or:
Minho is a murderous psychopath who's hopelessly obsessed with a sociopathic Jisung.