"I know they call me the tech god, but I can't walk on water, I assure you. And this? Yeah, it's even more difficult than walking on water. The sound was never recorded, so I can't bring back something that was never there, to begin with, Jungkook."

Sometimes we try to open doors that are better off closed. Jungkook wasn't even trying to open the damn door, he was trying to tear the goddamn thing down. Frustration and anger mixed into a dangerous concoction as he ran his palm over his face, sighing. Yoongi was his last resort. The only one, to be perfectly frank. He had the video that proved your infidelity. The dirty little thing going on between you and Seokjin. But apart from the vivid image recorded on 4k, there was no sound. He thought Yoongi would be able to pull something and fix the problem, but apparently even he couldn't.

"So you're basically saying you're useless to me?" He barked, just to let the steam out before it consumed him. No malice was behind his words, just his frustration. Yoongi knew it. Damn, even Jungkook knew he was exhibiting the comportement of a spoiled brat.

"Not as much as you. But yeah. You can say that about this case." Yoongi offered calmly.

"What the fuck are you implying, Yoongi?" Jungkook got on Yoongi's face, just a few inches shy from landing his fist on the man's jaw.

"If you're so keen on playing Conan the Detective, you should've picked better material, is what I'm saying. I mean, what the fuck is this?" Yoongi pointed at the small camera. "This shit's for amateurs."

"Gotta excuse me. Stalking isn't one of my hobbies." Jungkook knew it was a low blow given Yoongi's past, but he went there regardless. He needed an outlet. Yoongi happened to be in his way.

He saw it. The way Yoongi's lips curled into a twisted grin. The wounded type. Or maybe the remorseful type. He backed away and let out a deep sigh for the umpteenth time as he flopped down on Yoongi's bet-down sofa. They were currently in Yoongi's apartment since the authorities had shut down his cyber café for investigation -- thanks to you.

"Listen, man. I'm sorry, okay? But I have to find a way to make this tape useful. Otherwise, I might as well throw it in the trash." Jungkook's eyes were fixed on the low ceiling of the room as he uttered the words. His voice wasn't far from pleading, and Yoongi wasn't the type to ignore Jungkook's pleas. He was indebted to him, even if Jungkook never claimed any kind of payment. Which was why he was humoring him although he knew the activities they were engaging in were teetering on felonies.

It was Yoongi's turn to expel a loaded sigh, leaning back in his seat and resting the back of his head on his palms. Silence engulfed the place until Jungkook's lighter brought some sound. Click-clack. He flicked the lighter again and again, watching the flame flare and die as his thumb released the switch.

"I need to know where he works." Yoongi's words forced Jungkook to stop playing with the lighter. He straightened up and waited for Yoongi to enlighten him. "Need his schedule too. A phone number would be perfect, but I need immunity to proceed. Hand me a cigarette, man. I'm quite broke these days, and inflation hit tobacco first thing."

"You got it," Jungkook stated.

"You want me to show you my pockets? I smoked my last one earlier."

Jungkook tossed the pack of cigarettes, hitting Yoongi right in the head. "I'm talking about immunity, dickhead." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly typed a message. Yoongi's phone rang a second later.

"There, you got it now. His address and phone number. So what's the plan?" Jungkook inquired.

Smoke came out of Yoongi's nose as he dropped his lighter inches from his computer keyboard and looked at Jungkook with a mischievous grin. "Leave it to the professionals, your honor. I'll report back in due time."

Jungkook stood up and walked to the door. He was done here. But he wasn't done with you. Never with you. At the door, he stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "You don't owe me shit, Yoongi. You know that, right?" He looked over his shoulder as he offered the words. Jungkook needed all the help he could get, but he didn't want to drag the few people who gave a fuck about him down the drain. Yoongi had already lost too much being used by people who only cared about their gain. He spent his youth in prison and never had the chance to bid goodbye to his late mother. The prospect of inflicting another loss on him disgusted Jungkook to the bone. He knew there was no immunity he could provide with his suspension from work. He would ask Namjoon for help, but would that be enough? Yoongi had a criminal record. A repeated offense would land him back behind bars.

"Get back to your job, your honor." Yoongi offered with his back to Jungkook, pouring his focus on his computer. "Don't force me to kick your ass out."

Jungkook chuckled and shook his head as he opened the door. He never shared this thought with Yoongi, but he often felt like they were similar in many ways. Both of a few words. Both bland, but there when needed.

Jungkook knew where he was going when he revved the engine of his car. He also knew where his mind would drift during the drive. It started to become a habit to think about and analyze your interactions now that he knew you were getting cozy on someone else's bed — his friend's, no less. Thoughts became his designated torture. He was the hostage. The prison was his mind, and there was no getting out of those tight walls. There was too much to go through. Too many details. And you didn't give him time to swallow the first pill when you forced him to chug the second. Upon reflection, he figured you were the captor, not his mind.

See, they say that some people treat shame like a disease, steering clear from it. You were those people. Last night, after dinner was over, Jungkook gave you hints about his need to be left alone. You didn't take the hint, even though it was neon green, the same color of the liquid that coursed through his veins when he saw you fondling Seokjin. He took refuge in the shower, scratching his skin so you wouldn't see the green creeping into it. He hoped the scalding water would erase the images the camera had captured. You seemed quite at ease dealing with another man inside his house. Old sayings are never wrong. People have no shame. But neither did the water succeed in diluting the image, nor did you leave him alone to deal with such a failed attempt. No, you just couldn't sit still. You had to rub your actions in his face with kindness, so he decided to adopt your method as well. To kill you with kindness. Which was why he was going to your library right now.

But he was a prisoner, and prisoners can't walk around without shackles. His shackles were the image of you stepping into the bathroom as he flogged his skin with hot water. You were too smug for someone who was cheating, really. You had the audacity to throw your clothes on the floor next to his, as if they didn't smell like another man, and stepped into the shower stall, hugging him from behind as if you didn't need to scrub another man's touch first. It was the least you could've done if you really had any sense of shame, but we've already established that not everyone does.

The shackles weren't just around his hands. No, his feet were shackled too. The metal chains were the smell that lingered on your skin as you rubbed it against his. Fuck, you really went there. It was faint, but still detectable, even as the water drenched your hair and body. It was a male perfume you carried shamelessly. Not his perfume. Not anymore his perfume. "Just like old times," you began, and fuck! Your voice was still the same, so why did you change? "I missed showering with you. Your work robbed us of time, but not anymore. Now I have you all to myself."

Hypocrisy, they say, stems from the absence of shame. You got the whole package. Con-fucking-gratulations. But word of truth to the listener, you had him all to yourself. He, on the other hand, not so much. Matter of fact, he saw with his own eyes exactly how he shared you with his friend. You grabbed him by his shoulders, turning him around so you could see his face and look into his eyes, and he wished you hadn't done that. He wasn't sure what look you'd see. Figured you didn't have an eye left to read his emotions anymore because you didn't even try. You avoided looking at his face the way you avoided shame. Such a shame. Your eyes trailed his body, noticing how raw and red the skin was. You turned off the water. "Babe, the water's boiling hot."

He immediately turned the faucet back on. He needed to drown in the sound of the water that was trying to wash away your sins. He needed another source of sound that wasn't your voice, his, or his toxic thoughts. "It relaxes me."

The steam curled around him, suffocating his lungs the same way as your smile did when you looked into his eyes and dropped to your knees. He closed his eyes when your hand stroked his cock, not out of pleasure, but out of sheer disgust. He was disgusted by how he'd twitched between your palms. He was disgusted by how hard he got at the slightest touch of your hand. He was disgusted by the fact that he couldn't manage to hate you even if you'd chosen to replace him with another man — his friend, no less. The emphasis is for good measure.

But he was glad when you took his closed eyes as a sign of pleasure and continued on, adding your mouth to the mix. When he opened them to pull at the root of your hair and guide your movements, he was more than glad. He was delighted because you had your eyes closed. He couldn't bear to look into your eyes without doing something crazy—crazy like swapping your hair with your throat. He would've suffocated you the same way the steam and your presence in the shower suffocated him.

You worked extra hard down on him, and he wondered if it was your guilt blowing him off. Your head bobbed as you took him in and out of your mouth, the strings of saliva mixing with the hot water lashing your skin. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, you hear me?" He growled, and he wondered if he was talking about the stellar BJ you were giving him, or about your love that he wasn't above begging for.

Ever the overachiever—proof being how you were handling two men from the same circle — you didn't stop. You incorporated your hand stroking his base, which your mouth couldn't reach even if you tried to deep-throat him. "Fuck! I'm about to cum. Swallow every drop, Cassandra. Am I understood?"

When you did, you looked at him with a proud look. Because the lack of shame and pride go hand in hand. He stroked your swollen lips with his thumb, determined to wipe the smile in any way possible. He turned off the tap, planted a kiss on your forehead, and left the shower. A little taste of his bitterness, even if the comparison came way behind. A bonus of confusion to make you feel a small portion of what he felt when he saw Seokjin touching you.

Jungkook's phone saved him from his torturous thoughts. It was a message from Yoongi. Jungkook was almost at his destination, just a few kilometers away. He grabbed the phone and read the message.

Yoongi: I have someone who can read lips. He'll be at my place tomorrow at nine.

Yoongi: I have a connection with our mutual friend now. Call us besties.

Jungkook smiled at Yoongi's attempt to scramble things. The translation was crystal clear to him. Yoongi had infiltrated Seokjin's phone. How? Only Yoongi knows, and Yoongi doesn't share the secret of his magic.

Everything was going according to the plan. A plan that Jungkook had yet to craft because honestly, he wasn't sure what to do with the truth once it came to light. The right course of action would be to let you go, but deep down he knew he couldn't. He would have done it immediately, without digging deeper, if he was able to. The video he had saved in his cloud was proof enough. But lies are not only reserved for deceiving others. Sometimes they're a good way to deceive ourselves too. He'd rather deceive himself by looking for more evidence than face you and end it all.

There was only one more fork in the road before he reached your library. The plan was simple. Kill you with kindness. He wanted to surprise you. Take you to dinner and let the guilt fester in your heart. He was sure you still had a heart, just as he was sure you had no shame. And he'd play with your heartstrings until you snapped. It was a long way he was willing to take. Anything but put an end to whatever was left between you two. But then his phone rang again, this time with an incoming call.

"'Sup Namjoon?"

"I have his location. You owe me big time, motherfucker. Do you know how many strings I pulled to find him?"

"What do you mean?"

But Jungkook knew exactly what Namjoon was talking about. There was only one thing that Jungkook was obsessed with before you became the center of his thoughts. Only one person, for the sake of being precise. His sister's murderer. Jungkook's heartbeat sped up, and with it, his car. It was a knee-jerk reaction. The adrenaline rushing through his body leaked onto the gas pedal without him intending it.

"Kim Taehyung, who else? Focus, man. Focus. I'll give you the address. Do you have a pen and a piece of paper?"

The brakes of Jungkook's car were quite loud as they screeched to a halt on the asphalt a few feet away from your library. His hand clutched the phone with such strength, it would hold a falling future from crashing. But it did not. His past had fallen, his present seemed to be taking the same course of action, and his future was right behind on the same path. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he took sight of you and the person standing right in front of you with his hands in his pockets leisurely. Talking and talking and fucking talking.

It was almost poetic, really. The man who had destroyed his past standing in front of the woman destroying his present. His two obsessions colliding. If there was a God, he had one hell of a sense of humor.

"There's no need. He's right in front of my eyes."

happy new year, folks <3

votes and comments are appreciated :)