Confusion became overwhelming, a state of continuity and endless torment influenced by some things - some indescribable and perhaps even unwanted feelings - that drove you to overthink, to spend nights with only the lamp dimmed on the bedside table. A kind of solitude that you used to appreciate grew to become more apprehensive about as of late. You used to call it a spring clean, a rearranging of shelves, and a dusting of their content; now, you'd would more likely call it a curse.

It was all hindersome rather than nurturing, all useless, fruitless, a whine of a junkyard who'd rather hold out a palm to ask for a coin than earn it. Pointless, really. Drove sleep away sleep, kicked out appetite, too, and these days when you looked in the mirror or had the misfortune of wearing pants that used to fit like a glove in the past, you found yourself checking your contacts to see if any of your college friends have decided to become dietitians. Thought you would do with a strict diet and a few types of workouts jotted down to follow. You like to follow a protocol. Less of a fan of unplanned events.

Unplanned life.

So curses have replaced prayers, sighs too, for that matter. The ceiling never provided a diagnosis for your heavy heart, nor the reason for the palpitations whenever the fantom of thoughts possessed by him crossed your mind. It became worrisome and required an exorcism. Perhaps an offering to the ancestors while you're at it, too.

The questions were always the same: every second and every damn minute of silence you wished could escape from every time it presented itself as a golden opportunity. Matter of fact, there was only one question: 'Why would he go against his father to keep me out of it? What's in it for him?' Well, the one question turned into two, and the two increased rapidly to three and four, and in math, the numbers are infinite. Endless.

So, you do the math.

But, funny as it may sound, you, a scientific graduate and a practicing physician, were never good at math. Good lord, class was boredom personified (objectified, for the sake of accuracy). Would rather skip and justify the absence to the dean afterward. The struggle was always worth it. A matter of ratio, as with everything in life. So the math was taken out of the equation, leaving you with more spiritual options, and that's when the ratio got messed up. You had nothing to offer your ancestors, nothing of value except a bunch of bad choices and regrets. Could be to their taste, for all you know. After all, taste is subjective.

And that's how you found yourself poking more holes in your ears. Something about fighting fire with fire being a lot like curing pain with pain and confusion with diversion. You knew it was crap, but it had always helped in the past. Thought it would be the same this time, and honestly, it was. The pain snapped you out of your trance for a full five minutes and another five when the bijou was inserted into your latest conch piercing. Made you think about how bad it could ever go if you embellished your ears yourself instead of relying on a professional. Figured the result would be exactly as how you've never gotten an answer to satisfy your questions from Jungkook, Yoongi, and Seokjin combined.

You had also met Taehyung. Acted none the wiser and left him to his bottle alone in the living room - as per the ritual you both had ended up sorting out. Wished you could bring yourself to smear your face with iron and tell him that you weren't grateful at all, that you were in fact so unamused- scrap that - so angry that you would have smashed that bottle of Cabernet over his skull. Instead, you headed to your room, and between the insults you directed at him in the confines of your head and in a hushed voice tinged with anger, you also spared him a thank you that you could barely hear, even though it was resonating from your mouth.

Thought it was better this way; he probably wouldn't like the tone of your voice anyway.

"Gotta get some ink, girl. You know, balancing shit out." Your piercer chimed, voice all chirpy, very different from the monotone you seemed to favor lately.

A nice idea, you thought. But you also thought that perhaps that could wait for more conviction or perhaps bigger reasons that required a bigger distraction.

And such greater reason arose in the wee hours of the morning. At five forty-five, to be precise, in the form of a phone call that no one had asked for. It was never good news to be woken up by an incoming call, especially not when the caller was an officer from the Gwanak police station.

"This phone was given to us by Seoul University Hospital. It seems that it belongs to someone close to you."

You didn't know what to make of this information. Settled on disliking the smell it carried, the wind that sent it your way. You straightened up on the bed, pricking up your ears, the silence deafening, the walls contracting, mimicking the state of your ribs over the organs.

"Who is it?"

It was an unlisted contact. A 10-digit number that might resemble a spam call if it weren't for the particular composition of numbers that indicated personal use. It also appeared to be new and not part of the older generation that started with 1.

It could have been anything, really. You thought a friend of yours had gotten drunk and needed bail to profit from what little hours remained before the sun shone bright. Thought that same friend might have played a number on you. A prank that went a little too far. You didn't want to admit it, but you also thought - and mind you, between all these thoughts, this one made your heart pick up the pace - the man you shared a roof with had tripped over a big damp on the way home.

Somehow, you were ready to help should your help be required. In fact, the speculation alone led you to shoot up from the mattress, phone still glued to your ear as you searched for something to protect you from the cold of a car, which was certainly frigid.

"Do you know anyone who goes by the name of Park Jimin? If so, your presence will be required at the hospital."

But then the phone dropped, and so did you. It took you seconds that seemed like decades to get back on your feet, because you're a big girl in a cruel world that can't accommodate weakness. And when you found yourself wishing you could swap this for any of the scenarios you had previously imagined, you had forgotten the coat you had been looking for earlier with the intention of wearing before leaving the place. Took the phone, though. You had to keep it by your side to remain updated.

You didn't know about what you needed updates. Thought about everything, the positive before the negative, in the firm belief that energy can only attract the same waves.

You swerved in the empty lanes with thoughts filling your head that were very similar to what you had felt when you went to save your husband's life. Found it odd. Decided not to think much of it. Not to dwell on the fact that you had poured out a huge torrent of emotions on him- towards him.

Found it was even crazier that you were even thinking about him now, to begin with.

The drive wasn't long. Fifteen minutes and you had the car parked and hurried to push the elevator button before it closed. There were only a few nurses inside. Gave you disparaging looks as you stormed in breathlessly, your chest heaving like a fallen leaf in a season that was yesterday. The elevator rang on the second floor; it wasn't yours, so you were left to push the button for the fifth floor with an unmatched vigor, and when the arrow went up and gave place to number five, you rushed out before the doors could fully open.

At the head of the corridor were uniformed personnel. Both medical and official uniforms. The phone you had not forgotten came in handy as you called supposedly Jimin's number, hoping as the static separated you from explanations for his voice to be the one to say hello. He would reproach you for calling, tell you the reasons why you couldn't be together all over again, and you realized you were okay with that - with anything, as long as he picked up in the end.

The worry was visible in the tense muscles of your back. There was no need for Taehyung to see your face. When you hung up the phone and turned around, waiting or maybe looking for someone, he wished you wouldn't notice him. Realized that he had never been the focus of your interest to be visible now. He. Had. Never. Been. Such a pretentious piece of shit.

It wasn't his intention to follow you. Well, maybe it had become that when he entered the driveway of your house at almost six in the morning and saw you walking toward your vehicle in pajamas that couldn't possibly protect you from the fangs of winter.

Concern. Yes, that's exactly what it was.

Or whatever! This is a free country that offers medication, and he might be in need of medication. What do you know about his condition anyway?

He is free to drive in the same lane, with the same destination you had been leading to. His right, no one can take it away from him. His freedom.

But now, as the worried posture turned into an agonized cry and a fall that the ground welcomed, Taehyung could no longer remain hidden in the shadows of his lame justifications or the valid ones of his stalking.

"It was a hit-and-run. After checking, it looks like he tried to reach your number. He may have called twice. One was aborted due to a poor network; the other was successful. That's why you were contacted first by the authorities."

"Where is he now? Is he badly injured? Is he in surgery? I can speak to the doctor in charge. I'm a medical corpe myself. I can handle it. You can be completely open."

"I'm sorry for your loss. My condolences."

That was the moment when the weight of your lie crushed you. I can handle it. You could never. You were never prepared to send him off first. Never considered it as a possibility, as an option that fate might bring. Had faith in him instead. Believed in his promises of eternity and nothing could do us part.

There wasn't a sound in your sobs; they were silent. Orphaned tears in the company of obstructed breaths and a restless heartbeat. It was silent, all of it. Literally. The voices faded, the crowd disappeared, the place became empty. It was just you and you alone. And perhaps if you had looked with a gaze unclouded by salty tears, you might have seen that you were not alone, that a man watching your fallout was grieving for different reasons right behind you.

Taehyung wanted to ignore the voice of logic in his head. It was easy, just a work of convincing said brain to take a step forward. One, two, go! But logic was his flaw and prowess, and tonight, he hated it more than usual. He found it more appropriate to leave you to the vulnerability of your state until you had absorbed it to some degree. A moment of intimacy of some kind. A moment that should remain private, untainted by external pollution.

And so it remained until your sobs found your voice. You clenched your fists on the policeman's shirt collar, and when all that came from him was a mute apology, you turned to take your anger out on a passing doctor, another policeman, until those same fists landed on a black mohair vest and an equally charcoal black shirt.

This time, you were not pushed away, not rationalized, or calmed in an ethical and professional manner that was not exactly empathetic to such morbid situations. This time, your fists were welcome, your anger too, and the voice that screamed to convey raw emotions to the entire floor, looking for another tortured soul to tell you that you were not alone, was instead muffled in a chest that echoed it throughout the whole building instead.

Taehyung had never heard such pain in a scream before, and he was no stranger to pain. Wondered if it would ease it up for you if you had seen the moisture at the edge of his eyes, still fighting for decorum. Questions were pushed aside as you looked him in the eye with those glassy, bloodshot eyes of yours.

"He took him away from me, Taehyung. I- I sent him to the end of the world, and he managed to take him away. What am I to do, Taehyung? How am I supposed to live now?"

When he pulled you to his chest again, he did it on purpose. Not to stifle your voice but to ink it into his heart. The needle was sharp, the ink poisonous, but he chose to make out of it a statement in cursive letters, a promise to dry your tears with vengeance.

"He took him away, a fact I can't change. Can't tell you how to live or what to do neither, but I can be with you while you learn how to."

And when you pushed him back and fixed your gaze on his once more, it wasn't out of rejection or a need to show strength. It was to find confirmation in every word he had said, a promise, everything he intended to give you. A match, similar thoughts in different brains.

"I can't change anything about tonight or what he did, but I will change his impact on our worlds. I promise, Yunjae. I promise you."