That night, he presses his butterfly knife against Kun’s back. The blade is blunt, but with just enough force and skill of a butterfly’s wings, it will pierce right through the apex between the fourth and fifth rib. He plays it in his mind, slowly, savouring each moment.

Reloads. Plays it again, picking up the smaller details. The feeling of blade against flesh, the particular shade of crimson, the swimming high of taking a soul.

Kun doesn’t even look up from the counter, plating spaghetti from the pan. Garlic wafts through the room and engulfs them. He turns, and a mere second later, something presses against his neck. If work is done, it’ll reach his carotid artery, and swish-

“We can stand for another 30 minutes, or we eat.” The point of pressure is released, and Kun glares at his like a parent would.

“I could have done it.” Ten sounds almost childish, whining. “Even if I didn’t, there’s no guarantee I won’t. Maybe next week. Or tomorrow. Or after dinner. Maybe even as I finish this sentence.” He glares reluctantly, setting the table.

“Have fun cleaning the blood out of this carpet, darling.” He runs his feet across said carpet, then Ten’s leg, up and up and up. “Cream and crimson don’t match well.”

They both live.

made this thread before I delete this wip because I love this scene. Murder wine husbands Kunten, brought to you by gowon.