There were flowers in a crystal vase above the table when you woke up, or when you practically opened your eyes from a theoretical slumber. Tulips. Beautiful, colorful tulips that Jungkook had always given you ever since your first official date. You'd told him then that you'd never gotten flowers before, and after that little confession, he made sure there needn't be an occasion to bring you something that painted a wide, dimpled smile and sugary sweet eyes on your face. He'd come back from work with groceries and a bunch of tulips on an ordinary Thursday night. Sometimes, when you went on a date to your favorite bar, you'd come home to find a bouquet waiting for you on your doorstep. He'd kiss you when you told him he was lovestruck, and he'd tell you that he was basking in the pain and joy that the blow brought upon him.

This time around, however, there was a reason for the bouquet. There was also a note next to it. I was brass. I admit it. Give yourself time to forgive me. I won't push you, but I want you to know that I love you. And I will forever. JK.

Forever. Such a big, big word. You wondered if he knew what it meant, what it entailed, what it took for it to become a promise rather than a simple word. You doubted that he would let such a word come out of his mouth - or even in ink on his paper - if he knew that it could be his ultimate torture if the truth prevailed. Upon reflection, you doubted he would torture himself if he could simply inflict it on you by splitting eternity in half. Maybe even a quarter.

It was still quite early in the morning. The sun's rays illuminated every inch of the kitchen and living room in a pale peach hue. You were still in your pajamas. Still lacking a good caffeine boost and maybe a crumb of bread when your appetite came knocking on your door. He had woken up very early for a man who had been dead drunk a few hours ago. It didn't look like he'd nursed his hangover with a meal either, considering there were no dishes in the sink and the air didn't smell of food. The urge to plop down on the chair at the table and pull your hair from the root was fought by the need for coffee and the logical sense to look for solutions instead of crying over spilled milk. And who were you to ignore the call of logic?

And logic called for a solution as soon as you put milk in your steaming Arabica. It came in the form of your disposable cell phone ringing, which you willingly left to the light of day since Jungkook wasn't home.

"Is now a good time?" Taehyung asked. No greetings. No pleasantries. Because there was no reason to pretend winter was dulcet when its air literally tore at your skin.

"The good times disappeared the moment you did what you did, Shadow. But if you're asking if I can talk. I can. So fire away."

The sigh on the other end of the line was filled with guilt, remorse and blame. Taehyung suffered, you were aware of that, but you had no pity to lick his wounds. They were self-inflicted. And worst of all, he didn't just hurt himself. He slit too many throats with his sword, including his own. Not to mention mercy, you didn't want him to find peace, though you never prayed for more than happy days to heal a sadness that had latched onto him since childhood. He didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve the bad that life offered him, but he especially didn't deserve the good that it would have been willing to give him over the years. He sinned, and you prayed every day that God would not forgive his sins.

"I don't know how to get you to forgive me-

"Do you think my forgiveness matters now? Do you think my forgiveness is the one you should be seeking? Fine, then. If you want me to forgive you, tell him the truth and end his misery."

Oh God! You knew how unattainable your words were. How far they were from realizable and how they were pure fantasies that wouldn't do anyone any good. But you really did consider them more often than you'd like to admit. A confession would indeed end Jungkook's misery. It would also take the price off over his head. You'd enter the gray, moldy walls of a prison along with your friend, and your boss would stop bugging you with on-time deliveries. Fuck! You've spent the last few hours in bed thinking about this scenario. Jungkook would hate you, granted. He would be so terrified of you that the only way he would calm down would be if he could see you in handcuffs. He would regret every second you spent together and every memory of it. And even though the pain almost takes your breath away at the idea of his love turning to ashes, you were willing to go that far after the call you received at his office earlier.

"We've already talked about this, Cass. I really don't care what he would do to me, but you mean a lot to me, Cassandra. I can't watch you rot in jail because of me."

"Don't reply this broken record, for fuck's sake. I've had enough." The headache you'd numbed with an Advil came back with greater potency. Then came the need for nicotine. You couldn't possibly pop another pill before six hours had passed. So, you took the risk of leaving the stench of tar around the house as a sign of your addiction. Just another risk on the list. Another lie. What's so different? "I'd rather you came up with a solution to our tardiness. The boss called yesterday. He wants his product within two weeks. We need to work it out."

"Two weeks? Cass, I'm trapped in this library. How am I supposed to cook and supervise a lab like this?"

"Shut your fucking trap," you shouted. Any semblance of patience had already been thrown out the window. This was a phone call, and he didn't mind keeping the conversation scrambled. "You want me to brag to him about what you did and how it had caused rats to hunt us? You're going to cook, Taehyung. As a matter of fact, you will prepare delicious pastries, or I'll make sure you drown in your flour before he pats my husband on the head. Am I understood?"

Taehyung was silent for a second before you heard a bang from his side of the line. He was pissed off. He had every right to be. He was living the life of a prisoner without a judge's verdict. What an irony! You didn't hang up. You just put the phone down on the table and let the seconds of his rage to subdue themselves. You had no words of comfort for him. You didn't feel like you wanted to either. You both paid for your crimes in different ways, but in the same context. You both suffered. Both were in need for a kind word to be thrown your way like a dog would hope for a bone. His heavy breaths revealed that he was bringing the phone closer to his ear again. And you held yours in the same position, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"I need to get out of this place. Seize a good spot. I'm not cooking shit unless I have a well-equipped kitchen waiting for me, Cassandra. I want a place where I can stay. You know I can't take the risk of returning to my house if I've spent more than three weeks in this fucking basement. Then what would be the logic behind it? Am I wrong? Go to my house. There's someone there to make fake papers for me. When they're delivered, you bring them here. Preferably at night."

"You know I can't go to your place if it's shadowed." You yelled. He was being insensitive. He was pushing his luck. He took his anger out on you. But even if you were just as angry, you weren't angry at him. Technically, yes, you were. But you knew why he was acting like a brat. The whole matter was taking a tool at him. He saw the gray walls of a fenced compound whenever he closed his eyes. He saw her, his lost lover and his greatest regret, whenever he opened his eyes.

"Deal with it. Find a fucking way, Cassandra."

You found a way after racking your brain for almost three hours. A certain voice in your head convinced you that Taehyung's apartment wasn't being shadowed. Jungkook didn't have the full name. All he had was a broken credit card that wouldn't lead him anywhere, even if he knocked on every bank with a warrant. You knew it wasn't his job to knock, but it was his job to issue warrants. That's why you made a call before you got out of your car, which you'd parked two blocks from Taehyung's apartment.

"I need to talk to the boss." Your voice found its authoritative timbre again. Confident. Clear and at the right volume. You hoped that your worries would remain hidden behind it. You wished they would remain a secret. Another one added to the pile you kept to yourself, hidden under a mat that Jungkook unknowingly stepped over, unaware that what was hidden belonged to you.

"Boss is busy. He'll call you back when the time is opportune."

"No need for callbacks. Tell him Cassandra sends her greetings and needs a package to be sent to the courthouse if he wants his shipping to be on time."

You didn't wait for a response. Didn't wait to see if, as you doubted, the boss was standing right next to his wingman. You knew he would deliver. After all, it was in his interest, too. If he wanted the cake, he had to provide eggs, chocolate, and whatever you use to make a ganache.You walked to Taehyung's apartment unmolested. It was past six in the evening. You knew you had to hurry. Jungkook would be home soon, and he would expect you to be there right after the library closed, which was seven.

The slight change in schedule was that Jungkook hadn't finished for the day yet. In fact, Jungkook was so busy pulling a stake out right outside Taehyung's condo with a car you didn't bother to look twice at as you rang the intercom and waited for the door to be opened. He straightened up at the sight of you. The boredom he experienced as he held Taehyung's ID photo in his hand, waiting for someone resembling that crisp image to enter the premises, evaporated in a second. He grabbed the door hinge, ready to storm out of the car and run to you, a million questions in his head that he wanted to get rid of. But he didn't. He didn't know why. He just didn't. His hand held onto the door hinge as he looked at you from behind the windshield. Brows furrowed and heart pounding.

He reached for his phone as you spoke into the speaker, seemingly announcing yourself to whoever had invited you into the building and called you. He knew you were on business and had to meet with editors and sometimes writers. Perhaps there was someone there who needed to promote his work in your library. Perhaps a fucking printer's foreman. Maybe a marketing agent.

Or maybe a lover.

He listened to the ring and watched you stare at the screen, neither rejecting nor answering the call. Right then, he knew that what had brought you here had nothing to do with ink, marketing, or an unfortunate author who needed a place on your library shelves. His past pushed you away from his embrace and straight into someone else's. Someone with a free mind and a heart capable of connecting with you instead of fucking you to divert your attention from his absent mind. As you tossed the phone into your purse and pushed open the front door, ready to enter the massive condo, his grip on the steering wheel turned iron. His knuckles took on a white color. The blood flowed away from them and straight into his head, playing games with it and drawing images he didn't want to envision.

He called you again, this time leaving his car and striding toward the door, ready to do anything to shoo away the image of you lolling beneath a man who is not him. He wished he could narrow down the list of occupants to find out whose bell you'd rung as he stood outside the door, pacing back and forth while the call was directed to voicemail. He called again. Same fate. Then he tried again, and again, and again. When the only voice that answered his calls was that robotic woman announcing that the number he'd called was unavailable, he threw the phone against the door and took a drag on a cigarette from the pack he'd bought yesterday. A new habit. A whole new addiction. Now, it seemed like it would stick with him forever.

He really didn't know what he was doing as he stood there like a madman. He rocked back and forth, repeating the same word over and over again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Yeah! Fuck indeed. He should have cursed the past, the time he kept you waiting, and the answers he never gave. He should have cursed his obsession with the truth and the longing grief that made him ignore what he still had while he treasured what was gone. He should have cursed his inattentiveness that made you seek attention elsewhere.

He should have cursed the day he decided to take away from you the chance to be a mother and left you to deal with the weight of infertility.

Yeah! He really should have cursed his selfishness much more than your infidelity.

The shattered display of his phone lit up as a call came in, interrupting his endless pacing and hair-pulling. He ran to the device, expecting that you were actually with someone from work - which, mind you, you were - only to find that the caller was Namjoon instead.

"Jungkook, someone found out that you were helping an ex-convict. They sent a detailed report about Min Yoongi's cyber coffee and your investment in it. The judicial conduct is going through your office. Shit is blowing up so fast; you need to come here right away."

It wasn't an earthquake that shook houses and terrified people, but it was something more violent than that which shook Jungkook's life and pushed everything to the ground. It was the weight of your secrets and how far you were willing to go to hide them — to keep him safe or whatever floats your boat.

There was no word he could utter back to Namjoon. He simply ended the call and rushed back to the car, torn between the need to find out who or what you were doing and the need to get back to his job, to fence for himself and his career that he worked very hard for. The one he decided to put above your carnal desire to be a mother because he thought he needed power instead of children to avenge his sister and protect said children from the fate that took her away.

As he revved the engine, effectively choosing his career yet another time, you stood at the window and looked up at the sky, knowing that tonight would be very different from yesterday and the nights before. It was funny, really. You would have seen your husband if you had been standing in front of the window two minutes ago. He would have seen you, too and solved the mystery of your whereabouts. But it was this lack of the right timing that kept you together all these years by hiding your machinations - both of you. You would have thanked God if you had known what his role in your game was.

Small droplets began to stick to the window pane. They were weak and were easily pushed away by the strong wind of mid-November. But they were feisty. Had a strong will that you admired. They fought hard to prove their abilities, just like you, when there was no one to protect you. When the streets were your house, and the people were the monsters under your bed. A bed you didn't have, but now that you did, you weren't comfortable sleeping in.

"Here," Park Jimin, Taehyung's friend, murmured, handing you a manila envelope that was heavier than you thought it would be. "Tell him he owes me big time."

"I'm not his secretary," you retorted, checking the envelope containing a passport, an ID card with Park Byongsu's name on it, a burner phone, and a bunch of credit cards. "You have his number. You know what to do."

"You too," his voice halted your steps as you walked to the door, intending to leave. You turned around, watching his figure as he leaned against the couch and slipped his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You, too, know what to do, Cassandra. The tale of the thief and the judge never made it to Disney for a reason. It's a flop."

"Thanks for the developmental advice, but I'm a firm believer that Disney could do with a touch of variety."

You didn't stick around to hear another useless piece of advice. You knew where you stood. Your scenario wasn't worth marketing because it wouldn't sell. You knew that. You didn't need to be reminded. But when the elevator opened and the face you feared was waiting in front of it, you regretted leaving Jimin's apartment without getting into an argument. In a black suit and a white dress shirt stood your devil. Shoulders broad and radiating the confidence that escaped you at this exact moment. A grin that could be mistaken for warm and inviting graced his face. But you saw it for what it was: a sneaky grin.

"Kim Seokjin!"

He strode towards you, entered the elevator, and pressed the emergency button. His hand hovered around your face as he let his fingertip play with your bangs, which he tucked behind your ear before cupping your chin and capturing your gaze. "I like the way you breathe out my name, sweetheart. I really do." He moved closer to you, his cologne burning your nostrils just as his warmth burned your skin. You didn't take a step back. You fought for your place. Didn't let the intimidation show. You knew his species got off on that. "But I like to be professional when it comes to business. It's boss to you."

"What brought you here, boss?" you breathed as you felt his grip on the small of your back. Firm. Insistent. Unwarranted. Your eyes remained fixed on his and his on yours. Kim Seokjin never told you and perhaps never would, but he liked that you didn't shy away from eye contact. He had powerful men on retainer who never looked him straight in the eye. He admired your guts. Really.

His grip pressed you against his chest, softness against hardness, and that was the only time you closed your eyes. But only for a second, and it was out of sheer disgust, not fear. Never fear. "I did what you asked, but next time you ask me for a favor, you should do it with manners, sweetheart, okay?"

He pulled back, pushed the button to unlock the elevator, turned his back to you, and waited for the door to open. "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

He looked at you over his shoulder, a smirk playing around his lips. "Not yet. You've done it this time. I only did what you asked me to do, and I expect you to go on with what I asked, too."

The elevator dinged, and the door opened. He walked out and turned to you as he pulled a cigarette from his pack, leaving the white stick hanging unburned between his fingers. "'Cause see, if you don't, I'm really going to hurt him, and you'll get hurt in the process too. I don't want to watch you suffer, Cassandra. You know what you mean to me."

You knew. Very, very well.