Revenge is a recipe that only a few cooks and chefs master; it must be cooked for a long time on a medium flame, making sure that the mixture has the right consistency, not too dense and not too liquid; the taste should be kept under control, not too salty - the less blood spilled, the better the result - and not too bland; as with any other typical recipe, the key to success in revenge is the balance of ingredients, and needless to mention that following the steps with exactitude is mandatory for a better outcome.

Taehyung had watched countless DYI videos and read several "How to get revenge in five days," so he knew the steps by heart; he didn't go too fast nor too slow; he calculated the exact timing for his strikes and knew when to lie still; in simple words, he went far away from the shore, and as the saying goes, the world belongs to those who let go.

However, neither Taehyung nor the world belonged to you, for you were addicted to a substance impossible to recover from and rare to come by.

The ritual Yoongi required his men to perform daily made it easy to find the bug Rachel had planted in Taehyung's office when the opportunity presented itself. It was a few days after Taehyung's visit to Jungkook's office when you had been his prisoner - back then, a slight bit of mercy was still detectable in his now rigid heart, a message from a then unknown number was enough to really shake him up and drove him to Jungkook with a gun on his hip; but, as with everything, time came with changes, one of which was the fact that Taehyung found out that Jimin was the one who had sent him to rescue his damsel in distress.

The realization that he'd become Jimin's errand boy blew a lit-up matchstick inside his lungs, but he bit the bullet and kept it inside, just a new discovery, another deception, no biggie.

He couldn't be arsed when everything added up and almost came to a pleasant end, no, not at all; neither Jimin nor Jungkook nor the world deserved his pity anymore, that much was clear.

Yoongi had advised keeping the bug in its place, and Taehyung obliged; it was considered the wisest option from an ecologic point of view to use it instead of tossing it and opting for another. Almost the same recycling method had applied to Rachel.

They kept feeding Rachel's stream with information they considered harmless to share, feeding her professional ego with too much success that drew an insufferable grin on her lips in a loop; every time Yoongi passed by her desk had to drink a tonic to relieve his nausea; it had Taehyung speculating that he had morning sickness, putting his scientific knowledge to shame.

The bug did its best to convey distorted truths to anyone who would listen; facts knew significant changes and twists, even the main actors were replaced by extras who had never signed a contract for such roles or received compensation for them; their names appeared in the final screen regardless.

In Taehyung's office, you took on the role of the mastermind behind the hack on Jungkook's servers; consecutively, the bug transmitted the detailed conversation filled with false accusations Yoongi and Taehyung had, in which they had put the blame on your innocent back, putting a target on it in to which Jungkook could have a free shooting session.

Taehyung's affection for you had visibly waned since he found you were bearing his friend's child only a few months after his departure; he despised reckoning that you had used him to appease your carnal desires, that he was just a plaything that could easily be replaced with another when deemed necessary; however, his affection has been planted in someone else's garden, and truth to be told, it has been receiving the right amount of attention and water to keep it alive.

Taehyung became the shoulder Rachel used to cry on whenever her worst choice turned her usually positive mood into a sullen one; it was an action previously studied and planned; however, Rachel appreciated the gesture and decided to return the favor, becoming the reliever of his anger whenever his worst choice turned his usually calm mood into a tornado brutal to affront; in contrast, her actions weren't planned like Taehyung's, and whatever happened in their meetings that were usually held in the lounges of various hotels was an honest thank you that was meant to replace an apology she never mustered the courage to pronounce.

"It's fascinating the way you hide your softness behind a stern facade, Taehyung," Rachel purred softly, head resting over Taehyung's bare chest, ears enjoying the melody emitted from his slow and steady heartbeats, "I'm not used to it, I mean, it's strange, it almost feels like being drunk while in a safe place, it feels like home."

"I bet it does," Taehyung chuckled, his arm curled around Rachel's tiny waist; she smelled like roses and white musk; the scent was soothing his senses, the same way she soothed his body, "I'm happy you found your home then."

Her scent was familiar, so familiar that he knew he was swimming in the wrong ocean and drowning. Still, he did not mind.

The routine remained unchanged until Taehyung was appointed CEO of Jungkook's company, and almost the same tactics were used there as well. Using Jungkook's assets against him, and not only, but also against you.

When Jungkook first heard the contents of the bug, he was overcome with a complete shock that left him a shade lighter than pale; the echo that reverberated from the slap he landed on Rachel's cheek when she explained how logical the recorded conversation was made clear the extent of his anger, confusion, and brain damage.

He'd decided to take his anger out on Rachel and the rest of the world but never on you; he never spook about his knowledge, never reproached or confronted you with it; he pent it all up inside with one ultimate goal in mind, putting a ring in your finger, forcefully if needed.

"The lounge has been prepared, the invitations have also been sent; now all you need to do is to go try some wedding dresses, choose what you want; the price doesn't matter; I left my card in the drawer, get this task done, okay?" Jungkook spoke when he noticed you entered his room while buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror; no greetings, no formalities, he spoke without giving you the time to interrupt, not quite in the right mood to hear your whines.

"Jungko—-

"No, Y/N. No buts, I wasn't asking you; I was ordering," he began as he set aside the task he was executing; leaving his dress shirt open, he strode toward you; broad shoulders almost obscured the light coming from the window, sending signals of intimidation you failed to pick, "you are smart enough not to be rebellious again, Y/N; I'm not sure how I'll react if you keep provoking me, not sure if I can maintain my itchy fingers to myself," he grinned slyly as he towered over you; icy fingers barely touched your jaw, and slowly reached for your cheeks, "I had a meal with the prosecutor who handled Seokjin's case the other day, such a scary man he is, really! I don't want you to face him again, no, not at all, imma protect you, babe."

Not even when he saw you fucking his partner did the seal on his lips open. Even when he had faced his weakest self while holding you assertively between his arms in front of the glass wall of his office, when he felt insulted, wounded, and hurt, blaming you still couldn't be an option.

It's scary how an ordinary person could turn into a monster all of a sudden; indeed, what should be feared aren't wild animals nor people on whom we put a prejudiced tag that reads criminal; what should be feared is a provoked person who ends up with nothing to lose, a cornered person who had been left with limited choices and never experienced the sort of love they had been giving unconditionally.

You were scared. You feared your own self and wished to flee from your own body and hide; as you stood trembling with tears flowing from your wide-open eyes that seemed soulless like a dead body, crimson liquid covering your hands, half of it yours while the other one seemed to belong to the stiff body laying on the floor, old memories that couldn't be considered pleasant flooded your brain, rendering your limbs limp and out of control.

It was an act done out of anger in a second when what we'd call greed blinded your eyes, but it was an act, nonetheless, one that couldn't be taken back, for time cannot be rewound.

With shaky hands, you reached for your phone and called the first number you could trust enough. You hoped Jimin would forget the harsh words you had told him and pick up the line, even though you weren't sure how to tell him this news over the phone.

Your mouth was paralyzed as Jimin called your name over the phone; all the words you had prepared and the pleas evaporated as your eyes gazed upon the scene you had tried to avoid; the shuttered glass penetrated every vessel in your body, although it lay motionless on the floor; the blood on the beige carpet was a threat to your bile, its odor was strong and coated the fresh air coming in through the window with an unpleasant metallic smell that aggravated both your sickness and emotional state.

"Jimin, I——

A shrieking sob escaped your mouth before you could finish your sentence; time cannot be rewound, but why did events repeat themselves over and over again? Why was fate so hard on you that you had to experience the same traumatizing event twice? What was the likelihood that this would become a common occurrence?

Jimin overcame his torpor in a few seconds and hurried to his keys; before leaving the house, he beelined toward his room, from which he fetched a first-aid kit; he had asked you to check Yoongi's pulse, and you confirmed that a weak, unsteady one was still detectable.

It took him less than ten minutes to reach Yoongi's villa on his motorcycle. He had vowed never to ride that behemoth on public roads again since his accident, but the situation required a certain speed, so he convinced himself that he was better than being a coward and temporarily forgot about his trauma.

Jimin rushed into the room, beads of sweat covering his forehead and drenching his hair; he knelt near your figure and, without hesitation, pulled out a pair of gloves and began to check Yoongi's pulse.

"Care to explain what the fuck this is, Y/N?" Asked Jimin with slight anger that left more impact than it should; he was still examining Yoongi's body, trying to figure out whether or not the man could see a tomorrow; he had a bicep in his hand with which he held a piece of gauze, the other hand held a saline solution, cleaning the wound with it to have a better inspection.

You took another lost look at the scene; any linguistic knowledge was thrown out the window as the situation came at you for the umpteenth time; a whimper was easier, so you let it out, hoping it would open the way for your words, which it did. "I did it, Jimin. I'm a killer."

Yoongi lay still and motionless while Jimin perforated his vein to give access to some isotonic solution he, fortunately, had in his medical bag; the cut itself wasn't deep, but the bleeding was incessant, and the impact was strong enough to knock him over.

"Get your shit together, Y/N; you did what you did, and now it's too late to cry about it; think instead about what's going to happen; save your tears for later."

Jimin knew he was being an asshole in such a delicate situation, but he couldn't hide that he was deeply disappointed by the length of your actions; it was one thing to hide your lies, a whole other to hide your crimes.

He was putting his medical license at stake; the thought of it was unsettling, to say the least.

"Take your things and go home; I'll keep you posted and get in contact if necessary," Jimin ordered as he began to stitch Yoongi's wound; he wondered if ten stitches were enough and whether or not his technique would leave a scar on Yoongi's neck. Tending wounds wasn't his area of expertise; after all, he was a psychologist, and his knowledge of the medical field was limited to the minimal training he had received before specializing in psychology; he remembered why he had never fancied general medicine: the smell of blood was appalling.

"I can't leave you behind, Jimin; what if someone sees you; what if he dies?"

"Because your presence here is stopping him from dying?" Jimin looked at you briefly but sternly, "don't ruffle my feathers, take your things and get out of here; go to Jungkook and try to come out with an alibi; he'd be that for you, I'm sure; he won't jeopardize his reputation."

Schizophrenia is a damned disease; it's a monster that grows in the brain and feeds it illusions; obsession often comes in the same package with other abnormalities that form in the brain as the case begins to worsen, and sometimes the whole set is delivered and unpacked from the beginning if one's luck is limited.

You were getting obsessed, but the good news is that you weren't alone on this path.

Jungkook wasn't healthier in comparison; in fact, he'd have to run a check as soon as possible; his situation wasn't reassuring, nor was his behavior when he saw you covered in blood.

He didn't utter a single word except to ask whether the blood that covered your hands came from you, and when you tilted your head in the negative, he fell silent.

He moved your almost frozen body into the shower stall, and just like last time, he took it upon himself to cleanse you with vigor; the only difference was that this time he was gentle and almost lulled you to sleep.

"Aren't you gonna ask?" You asked, just as he was about to leave; the doctor he had called was already out of the room after having administered some sedatives and other medicines you usually take orally; it was a first; it even surprised him that you were the one holding his hand, and not the other way around, as was usually the case; the confusion left him immobile and made him forget to blink for a hot second.

"Sleep, Y/N," he tucked your hand under the covers, and after a chaotic contemplation, he left a feather-light kiss on your forehead, "I'm here no matter what; I trust you enough."

Trust? He wasn't sure of the meaning, but again, he wasn't the only one lost in a dictionary full of synonyms whose meaning he didn't know; Taehyung kept him company as he desperately searched among the pages for a definition of love and, with some luck, one of loathing.

His laughter was that of a mentally unstable person as he flipped your wedding invitation over between his fingers; the echo of his guffaw could have reached the hallway of the fifteenth floor if the walls hadn't been soundproof and if that hadn't been the case and someone had actually paid attention while eavesdropping, the sob behind that laughter could have dropped its mask and stood bare.

Your perfume filled his office as he sprayed it with relish, a placebo effect, let's say, to preserve your traces that were slowly fading since your last visit to his office; he never thought that the same perfume he loved so much would be a source of suffocation that would make him spout the contents of his stomach in the bathroom, nor did he think that a day when he'd sit on the floor crying, limp and without any residual strength, like when his parents died, would occur again.

Taehyung mourned, yet another time, alone in his office till the sun left him in the good hands of the pitch dark skies.

Jimin disliked where he was standing and even more whom he was standing in front of; he was reminded of how resilient the parasitic grass that grew in his grandfather's cornfield, how resistant it was to all the remedies the old man had used to get rid of it, and somehow he found that the person in front of him had the same abilities.

"I owe you my life, I hear," Yoongi began as he eyed his guests painfully, "your teamwork is fantastic; one rips, and the other sews; what an amazing collaboration, folks; I really admire it."

"Look, Yoongi, it was a reaction to your provocations, and you know it," Jimin argued, face stoic and bare of emotions as he pursued, "we all know that it's better for everyone to stay as far away from each other as possible, so why did you call this meeting knowing full well that it would be unpleasant for everyone present?"

"Come on, Jimin, don't be such a mood killer," Yoongi whined, amused by the emotional loss of control he was exerting on Jimin and the petrified look you wore while looking at him, "we have matters to settle, adjournments to decide," he tilted his head toward you and the discomfort was evident as he moved; the wound was still fresh and stiffening his neck, "don't you think, perpetrator?"

"I did it alone; Jimin had nothing to do with it; if anything, you should be grateful that he helped. Otherwise, you might have been six feet under by now instead of sipping your whiskey with that disgusting grin."

"Y/N," shouted Jimin.

"Such a sharp tongue, you got there, Miss Kim," Yoongi offered as he let the glass rest and reached for his cigarette, "I hope you don't mind being called that name; I mean, after all, you're a Kim collector."

"ENOUGH, MIN!" Shouted Jimin, slapping his hand on the table; that was enough to get rid of the sly grin Yoongi wouldn't let go of, which was eating away your last nerves, "that's enough; get straight to the point, Min; your suspense isn't appreciated, and neither is your company."

"Chill, folks. You'll break if you're too stiff," Yoongi mused, reached for his laptop, and turned on the projector, "all I want is a few dear friends to watch a movie with; am I asking for too much now?"

Your blood froze in your veins as the scenes played out; Jimin was in no different state; only the tears could escape, but not too far; they only pooled in your cheeks, reflecting the way your hands were tied behind your back and the inability of skedaddle.

Everything that had happened that night was recorded by Yoongi's surveillance cameras, not only the one in his office that recorded you in full HD, flawless as an actress but also the one from outside that documented your and Jimin's arrival time; everything was recorded, even the difficulties Jimin had faced when he stitched Yoongi's wound; what a pity that his not-so-brilliant craftsmanship was also recorded.

"Now, do you know that helping hide a crime is considered a felony, Dr.Park?"

Jimin grinned, but you couldn't sense where the humor came from, nor were you pleased by his cheerfulness, "if anyone hears you, they might think you're a model citizen; nice try, though, I'll give you that."

"Isn't it?" Yoongi questioned with amusement, "but the thing is, I'm no fool; I leave no traces behind, and that's what makes me the model citizen you're talking about and makes you," he pointed at both you and Jimin, "criminals."

"What's behind all this?" You questioned, eyes bloodshot but posture collected, "what's your requirements? Or would it be easier for you to understand if I used your language," you held your glass of Bowmore proffered by Yoongi earlier and gulped a generous sip, "name your price."

"Now we're on the same page," Yoongi began as he opened his pocket of cigarettes and offered you one that you'd accepted while Jimin declined with a scoff, "Jeon Jungkook, as a down payment."

"Let's talk final price. I pay in full."

"Kim Taehyung."

A/N

Why I hurt myself this way, really?

TT

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