The air was crisp, raw, and ruthless in its touch, a contrast that dazzled your feverish heart, which was suffering from the renewal of a grief you thought you had overcome and left behind.

But no. The speed did not erase the memories, flashes of images raced against the wind like the trees that lurked in the landscape, fading into nothingness and everything at once, ghosting through the vision like a caress that was a taboo to be seen, to be acted upon, even if the urge and need for it was so unadulterated.

The scent of pine and a promised winter failed in the aid of escape, yes it did, and you figured out, after all these years, that Jimin will always remain a faint hope, a promise of a warm afternoon in freezing weather, a bright sun on a day dominated by profuse transpiration of nature and shades of gray, and when you hit the throttle yet another time, whirling through traffic like a butterfly in a botanical gardenia, you promised that you would give up on whatever remained intact from the torn thread of hope, to give up prayers and resign yourself to the color palette chosen by fate.

For you finally understood that hope is the quickest ticket to misery, a VIP seat reserved for those who believed in the romanticization of a word so shallow, overblown by midnight ink and seeping candle wax, akin to the brush-wielder in exhaustion, the trickster who juxtaposed the reality of his feelings with bright words and heavy meanings, false promises that managed to make him feel that tad bit better, but shook the very foundations of the vocabulary.

Because hope actually means misery.

The next right turn took you up a hill, a steady pattern of curves that made for a surge of feelings that veered away from melancholy and were more like the release one often feels when sighing the last breaths of an exhausted body, and then you realized you could revel in the poisonous serendipity along with the behemoth that vibrated with each eager thrust, screaming for life for you, just like you brushed near the thin line of death for it.

From where you had parked the Kawasaki, you could almost make out the details of the interior decor that characterized the place, or at least bits and crumbs of what the bright lights behind the large glass wall that framed the small villa plated for you. That is, until you got off the bike, took off your helmet, stroked Hazelnut after thoroughly taming the unruly curls, and got a good look at the propinquities without the distracting tinted glass hiding minute details. Beautiful, you thought, the way the dim sconces emphasized the bashful hue of the tiles and poured their praises over the brighter spotlights that lit the fountain like dazzled stars, creating a ceremony for the orchestra that played melodies of cascades and rivers.

But when you took a few steps closer, the view of the interior became clearer, the vaguely shown details could now be given names, and your hunch and tiny knowledge told you that for sure Teo Yang was involved in the creation of this secluded haven. Further strides and a deeper look at the glass wall brought the large, beige, L-shaped couch into view, which actually was hard to avoid eye contact with, as the design was minimalist and the piece of furniture was pretty much standing out in the middle of the void, facing the exposed wall in full glory.

You receded from moving forward, helmet tucked under your arm and strands of hair flying over your shoulders and sometimes your face, keen to let your eyes pierce through the glass on the man clad in a black suit, a leg crossed over the other as he undid the button of his vest and relaxed his shoulders, returning your gaze with his fierce, jet-black, unforgiving eyes.

You unzipped the Motorrad vest without breaking eye contact, and with unpreceded zeal, you moved toward the door, which unlocked with a beep as you reached the threshold, inviting you in without a welcoming word.

"Making the most of the Kims' wealth, aren't we?"

There was a glass of whiskey on the rock above the tea table, an ashtray with only one or two spent cigarettes in it, and a pack that still seemed to be full. You looked around, and although you were sure you came upon an invitation, there was no sign of preparations for guests, no matter how much you inspected the place.

"Making the most of my talent, Doctor."

"Oh please, give me a break, Yoongi," you began as you slumped down on the couch with a hum, "Your talent wouldn't have earned you a penny if the power of their name didn't shake the walls of every place it resounds; so I suggest you pick up your phone and recall humility, and while you are at it, recall the ethics of hospitality as well. You didn't even prepare a glass for me, so rude!"

Yoongi gave you a look paired with silence, inspecting from head to toe, and in a second, you thought you felt a little feverish under the sheer scrutiny. There was a hint of mischievousness in his gaze, and you expected him to come up with a witty retort soon, but when he opened his mouth and inhaled a sharp waft of air before feeding on your speculation, you realized that you were far from being an avid reader of his thoughts, for the mischievousness disappeared and honesty occupied the empty seat.

"I never thought something as crude as a black and red Motorrad outfit could look so good on a woman. Guess I have lived enough to see my beliefs fade and be replaced by new ones."

The words were delivered with a forlorn look as he stood from his seat and walked towards the open kitchen. He did not return until he was holding a tumbler and platter of charcuterie, cheese, and small jars of jam that were so esthetically pleasing for their own good. "Guess with each day comes a new piece of knowledge, and today I acquired two. Jackpot. The rider doctor, Kim-Lee Yunjae."

"Lee; Lee Yunjae. Don't remind me of reasons why I should hate your guts." You sipped the scotch he served you, and when the heat of the liquid amber hit the head with a pleasant burning feeling, you reckoned there would be no better opportunity to settle your pending tabs. "You still owe me for attaching that name to me, and for general information, I like to be paid back double, and I don't leave the vat out. You have gone so far as to drag Jimin into this mess. So the question is, did you make enough bucks from the old geezer to pay back, or should I get a kidney," you narrowed the distance between you, moving closer to him and poking at his abdomen as you slurred the words, "or maybe a liver? They are in high demand nowadays."

He laughed, he fucking laughed, and it was different than you expected. It wasn't malicious, contained no poison, it was pure like the oxygen filtered by the eucalyptus trees surrounding the villa, fresh and inviting; however, it also reminded you that the wily wolf was always so kind to red-hood, innocent, and alluring.

"Why? Is the Lee clan so run down that you have to indulge in organ trafficking to meet monthly needs?" Yoongi lit a cigarette, turned the packet towards you, and you greeted the white stick between your fingers with a raised eyebrow. As he leaned in to hold the lighter for you, a little too close for an act that didn't require so much proximity, you realized he smelled of fresh linen and less abrasive sandalwood, the scents that match to extreme perfection, sins, and roguery.

You inhaled the tar and exhaled in the vicinity of his face, but his hand was still over yours, as he had held it tightly to light the stick of Marlboro Gold. "But what if I told you that I have a better payment, something financially unrelated but high-value nonetheless?"

Your ears perked up, as did your attention, and as curiosity mounted, your hand found release, and reached for the cup to take another sip, followed by what in the store?

"Okay, okay," Yoongi held his hands up in the air in a surrendering motion, letting his eyes linger on your curious orbs for a second, two, three, "Jimin's in San Francisco now, probably with a beer in his hand and a Taco Bell sandwich. Or maybe he's prepared a home-cooked meal to convince himself that his homeland can be replicated anywhere. I bet big money on the latter, his sweet sister would appreciate the action, and he's a sucker for that little five-feet creature."

The cup of golden elixir hit the glass rectangular tea table with a clink, a hefty gulp of nicotine found home in your lungs, and when it came out from your nose, your eyes were still fixed on Yoongi, who had a cheeky grin on his lips, arrogant and full of words you were yet to hear. "Who else knows about this besides us?"

"See, Doctor," Yoongi closed the distance he had let you create earlier, close enough to be assaulted by his scent once more, and now you realized that there were undertones of citrus as well, and as his palm rested behind your back over the couch, holding the weight he was supporting on it, you realized that the complexity of the scent matched his character very well, "Secrets, when shared between more than two people, are no longer secrets, but common knowledge. Do you want it to become common knowledge?"

You laughed, airy and beguiling, and in the premises of his lips, it was delivered. You laughed, honest and victorious, and Yoongi thought to himself that he could spend all the wealth he made from the old gaffer to witness the occurrence happening more often. You laughed, and when you came down from your high, you realized that his eyes weren't just fierce, they were also attractive when they saw something pleasant.

But the grin was different from the frown between Taehyung's eyebrows. His was deeper, more expressive, embossed with divergent emotions akin to disappointment and, strangely enough, the expectation of an end felt before it could occur.

"What do you mean by that, Katarina? She's my wife, for fuck's sake. Even if only on paper, she's still my wife."

Yes, the air was crisp, but it was icy where Taehyung stood, ice over his fevered body, and damn, ice could burn too. A fire over irritated sections, and God only knew they needed balm instead.

But his words didn't stop Katarina from packing her things and putting the sweaters that belonged to him in the suitcase. Taehyung stood a few steps away, following her movements with his gaze as she paced from the bed where her luggage lay to the dressing area to gather everything that had been placed on the counter, "and I'm getting away from the image of the husband and the wife."

It was then, when she walked towards the suitcase with a handful of cosmetics, that Taehyung stopped her momentum, grabbed her forearm, and pulled her against himself, "What's changed, huh? You even attended our wedding, so why are you acting like you didn't know you had been shagging a married man this whole time?"

"YOU HAVE CHANGED!" Katarina shouted, voice laced with venom, "The married man you're talking about used to despise that status, but you seem to take pleasure in the title, bringing it and your wife into every discussion, running away from me and using her as a reason; and no, Taehyung; I can't be the mistress anymore, not when you have clearly taken your heart out of the game."

And he would have lied if he could; would have said that wasn't the case and blamed it on the situation, but it wasn't just that, it was way more profound. He knew it; he fucking knew it, and that's why he let her arm fall from his grasp, looked at her with a deadpan expression and watched as she let one, two, three tears fall from her eyes, "Do you have feelings for her?"

"I don't." The answer came firmly, resolutely, as he looked her straight in the eye and confessed words he wasn't one hundred percent sure of, and she saw the lies in his spheres before he could take it further, "I just want to protect my name without being selfish. Meeting and at the same time demanding that she refrain from doing the same sounds very selfish and downright hypocritical, don't you think?"

"See, I told you," and she laughed without joy, sad and hurt, "that's how feelings start; empathy, Taehyung, that is."

The trolley was already closed and on four wheels as Katarina laboriously pushed it towards the bedroom door. Taehyung watched, hands hanging numbly at the sides of his body as he stood stripped of words until the situation dawned on him, bringing his voice to life, "If you decide to leave now, when I need you the most, there will be no turning back, Katarina."

The words were spoken with purpose, loud, clear and determined. And they managed to stop her at the door of the bedroom, to stop time and obscure the silence with breathy intakes of oxygen and sorrowful sighs: "I know. And I hope you're aware of that too."

But when Taehyung drank from his tears to quench the thirst of loss, you tasted sweet jam and hummed at the flavor. Karma indeed exists, and if you knew about the contrast of your situations, you would have told him that tables turn and the odds change, just as the weather does.

When your eyes caught a glimpse of the rainy weather, your cunt felt as drenched as the terra firma that found solace in nature's tears, and you wondered if Yoongi would show you similar mercy. You weren't able to name the moment his lips met yours, and you had the whiskey to thank for that. But you were elated, much more reassured that this, whatever had happened and bound to happen, would be forgotten the day after.

But Yoongi would blame it on the tank top you'd spilled sugar on; he'd say that he could have taken the desire and turned his eyes to the other side if you didn't strip the demure to remain on your bra only. He would have kept the fact that he liked you from the first sight to himself; the moment you ran at Jimin with all your might to protect him from his threats and the sharpness of your and your husband's name; yeah, that one; he would keep that to himself. A secret shared between a soul and its owner.

"This is so wrong," he asserted with heavy breaths and heavier touches, and when you looked into his eyes with determination filling yours, you realized the weight of his hesitation. But it was late, so late to take a step back, to grab your keys and drive across the wet asphalt to a house so empty and cold, and you blamed it all on the rain, for you associated the absence of emotion with the decisions of the skies. "I know. But doesn't that make it all the more enthralling, Yoongi?"

The scent of winter and the crisp air failed to make you forget the images of the past, but his weight on your body made you concentrate on the heaviness and lack of space that forced your ribs to move with effort instead. You came to the conclusion that it was the moment when he told you your smile was worth the risk; when he touched your cheek with renewed affection and appreciation after you mumbled a weak thank you; when he encapsulated you in a hug so warm it reminded you of how much affection you had been denied, and most of all, when he told you that he would not allow the person you love to be scratched by danger, even if that danger was himself, was the reason you gave him rights you had denied to others.

Yeah, that was when you clamped his lips between yours and refused to let them go until breaths became short, palms became clammy, and clothes became the obstacle you thought would be better off on the floor, far away from your scorching skin.

And glorious was the view from the glass wall. A portrait so detailed, with elaborate breaths that could have made the glass sweat if it hadn't been doubled. Deep gazes directed into hungry orbs and God, how expressive they were, even when viewed from the outside, there in the cold where the warmth of touches couldn't be felt.

"You don't need to leave the house; I will not come back if that's what you want." But warmth wasn't what Taehyung felt as he faced the cold, fall air. His car couldn't protect him from the chill, and he hadn't expected it to go to such lengths from him either, but he had expected better performance from the heater when he stepped into the company at past eleven pm, armored with anger and a desire to drink senseless.

The corridors were empty, loneliness screamed through the walls, embodying his state as he navigated the floors with his hands in his pockets. In a moment of loss, he blamed you for his condition and for everything he had become since you had entered his life.

"What are you doing here at this hour, mate?"

Jungkook's voice came as an unwanted addition, bringing to the anger another sprinkle of annoyance that wasn't needed but managed to ignite a fire nevertheless. It was when he reached his floor, that he ran into his friend, seemingly getting ready to leave the office at a tardy hour as always.

"Wanna be alone."

And the words weren't lost on Jungkook, who looked puzzled, unaware of the turmoil going on in the wounded hearts that made him question the strangeness of the occurrence at such a victorious time. "Why are you so sullen when your wife has worked so hard to bring justice to your case and finally put an end to your father's tyranny?"

Taehyung paused, both with his steps and his breaths, as he looked back over his shoulders at his friend he'd left behind on the way to his office, and in a voice that resembled a whisper, he spat out, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, she didn't tell you? Well, then, you will see for yourself in the headlines tomorrow."

Jungkook walked past the glass cubicles leading to the elevator before he was stopped again by his friend's words, "Is she still here?"

Jungkook laughed, mocking but ethereal, which fueled Taehyung's anger a bit more, "No, why would she? Do you think if you don't appreciate a gift, others won't either? My man, you really should reconsider." And with those words, he continued towards his original destination. Only when his finger pressed the button on the elevator did he say, "She's on a date, and God only knows who the chosen one is."

Taehyung had never run down the stairs so fast; in fact, he had never taken the stairs to reach his company's lobby before, and he wondered in a moment of confusion if the quickness of the steps could be the reason for his rapid heartbeat. The elevator had only beeped when he reached the first floor. The doors opened to reveal a confused Jungkook, who had called out after a running Taehyung more than three times without managing to regain his attention.

Seokjin went unnoticed as he bumped into him as he reached for his car, and in seconds that weren't enough for the startled friend to comprehend what was happening between the man in the car and the one running behind him, Taehyung's thumb had already hit the start engine button, and swerving the car in reverse, he exited the parking lot without looking back.

Yes, the air was crisp, cold, and unforgiving, but it couldn't bring comfort to a body in distress, to a person so confused that he could not decipher the reason for such unreasonable actions, nor could it soothe the burning of a suffering heart that had failed at everything except bringing unwanted punishment upon bodies that needed clemency instead.

Yes, the road was long enough for him to think deeply about his actions but not long enough for his pride to be soothed by the chill of such a harsh night. And sooner than expected, Taehyung found himself in the parking lot of Yoongi's house, there, near your parked Kawaski, witnessing with his own eyes the infidelity of your actions.

Yes, Taehyung was aware that your marriage was just ink on paper, but as he watched your endeavors, he realized that he would kill to keep that ink vivid on the blankness of the page.