At night, emotions are expressed; feelings such as love are clothed and demonstrated with what words cannot deliver; others, such as sadness, weakness, and tears, are released in the comfort of darkness; night is the shield, the harbor; night is the camouflage that hides emotions from lurking eyes.

But there are also nights that know no silence, nights that defy their original setting of privacy and speak several decibels louder than they should; nights when we know full well that a quiet morning would see no light; instead, it would be littered with chaos and conflict, drawing difference with strong contrast from a quiet yesterday.

A few miles from Incheon, on the outskirts of Seoul, events that would stain a tomorrow happened during the night; it was a well-decorated warehouse that could have been mistaken for a small chalet if one didn't know better, immaculate, decorated with soft beige tones and gold accents, mixed with the majestic addition of the king of colors; black. Sconces brought threads of light to the dark forest; the place was rural, inhabited due to the fact that it was far from the city and didn't offer basic necessities for people to opt for deposing their money on a house that excluded them from civilization and its benefits. Yet, it was the best place that offered the necessary privacy.

Meetings for business of great importance needed a quiet environment and, above all, secrecy; that is why Jungkook called the deputy Mr. Cha to the cabine; that's how they referred to their meeting place; nothing but a signature was needed to conclude the deal, had it not been for the stubbornness of Mr. Cha. How much different the night could have been if he had just let the ink hit the paper; it could have been a quiet dawn, with the birds chirping in the trees, if he had put a sock on his mouth and refrained from rubbing salt on a wound that hadn't quite healed.

Damn, it could have been a night that wouldn't change anyone's tomorrow had he given in.

Bottles of Scotch were sat at the table with empty glasses surrounding them, as if they were keeping them company in silence, as if they were sharing their grief over the broken one whose shutters were strewn across the floor, its liquid staining the marbled pavement as much as the crimson liquid pouring from Mr. Cha's skull.

The puff of cigarette swirled in the air as Taehyung nervously waited for the person he was desperate to reach on the phone to pick up the line while Jungkook watched the fruits of his erratic action warily.

It wasn't supposed to turn out like this; heck, it was supposed to be an ordinary night; Jungkook wanted the night to be as calm as possible, had planned to leave after his work was done and sleep between the arms of the person who drove his mind to the brink. Jungkook was a boy in love who believed that his thumb could hide the sun, thought that if he gave, he'd one day be on the receiving end, had faith that his immense love would one day revive the heart of his beloved.

How foolish.

See, Jungkook was the type of person who refused to let his partner know that her feats were overt, looked at her and her lover every day without burning them with the fire in his heart, refused to allow a mistake to tarnish his and her reputation, which was bound by vows and signature, felt ambushed when Mr. Cha exploited this weak point of his in a bargain that should've remained professional, and in seconds, the fire in his heart exploded like a booby trap that the deputy had carelessly touched.

"I need you to come to the cabine; unexpected events," Taehyung ordered when the line was finally taken down; the weight of the situation flushed nervousness into his features, his hair disheveled from the countless times he ran his fingers through it; hearing what Namjoon was muttering on the other end of the line, he loosened his tie in frustration, trashed the cigarette and continued, "then find a way, Namjoon; can't you understand or what?"

Taehyung wished he had presided over the meeting instead of sending his partner, thought it would have preserved the calm of his night if he had done so, reckoned he'd rather take a financial loss than have to deal with the consequences of an action born of the spruce of the moment.

Taehyung never considered that his tomorrow would be tinged when he drank his bottle of wine while snuggling against his girlfriend's neck and muttering sweet nothings mixed with promises of eternity, let alone a tomorrow, he didn't imagine that, during the same night, he would be forced to leave his bed warmed by moans and the sound of slapping skin, trading sheets still damp from excess sweat for the chill of his car, breaking the speed limit while waving through traffic in an attempt to stitch what had been torn.

But he realized that his tomorrow would be anything but an easy day at work when his gaze landed on the scene as he entered the cabine; hell, he even chided himself for cursing his boring routine more than once when Namjoon told him that he couldn't come to the rescue, figured he'd rather deal with the boredom at work than with a crime scene.

Namjoon was a renowned doctor before the tide turned against him and slapped him sharp in the face with death on the table. It was supposed to be a simple tumor removal, first stage, nothing complicated for an experienced surgeon like him, but unlike how he scrubbed in the operating room, he came out of it as a doctor who had committed malpractice.

Kim Jung-Woo, Taehyung's father, was a patient of Namjoon, and he was so fond of him to the point that he refused to let another doctor treat his case, so he offered Namjoon the position of his personal doctor after he'd been kicked out of Seoul University Hospital, friendship with the younger master materialized out of this deal, which resulted in him taking care of Taehyung's stallions as well.

Veterinarian or not, to Taehyung, a doctor is a doctor, and his stallions were more important to him than some of the people who surrounded him. They deserved top-level care.

Taehyung loved horses; they were his friends in a world that offered him no loyal people to whom he could confide his thoughts; not that he was completely lonely; no, not at all; it was just that his status often led to greedy dogs barking at his ankles, looking for bones to cling to, so in time he found comfort and pleasure in taming his wild stallions; it was more than satisfying to see them become loyal to him, almost caring, protective of their rider.

"What are we going to do now?" Asked Jungkook nervously, "what if he dies? Taehyng, I'll go to prison; I can't just stand by and let my career and life be snatched out of my hands like this." He reached for Taehyung's hand, beseeching his understanding, perhaps his mercy as well, "We have to find a way; help me, Tae."

"Fuck's sake, Jungkook, can't you see I'm trying; why haven't you thought about your so-called life before you did what you did, huh? Listen, get off my shoulders and give me time to find a way out of this mess."

Taehyung's brain was running miles a minute while waiting for the promised call from Namjoon; he had told him that he'd find a way, but Taehyung couldn't help but predict the worst; no reproach; he had every right to panic if the media got wind of the situation, he'd be buried half a meter underground along with the business his family had built for generations.

Namjoon, Taehyung's last hope, couldn't come to the cabine, for he was overseas on a business trip with Jung-Woo; the old man's health had deteriorated recently, so he had no choice but to have his doctor with him most of the time to save him in case of emergency, not only that but also to hide his condition from the ears of the other shareholders; couldn't risk his dismissal being discussed in a board meeting.

Taehyung wondered if it was his tenth or eleventh cigarette in just an hour, decided he'd just keep lighting one after another while standing in front of the window with one hand in his pocket, waiting for the phone warmed by the same hand to buzz patiently.

Jungkook kept alternating during that time between latching on a bottle of liquor and checking the assemblyman's pulse, hoping that he'd miraculously continue breathing despite the amount of blood that left his body to drench the ground.

"Namjoon!" Jungkook's attention was caught by Taehyung's voice, whereupon he put down the bottle and rushed to Taehyung's standing figure, almost gluing his head to Taehyung's phone to better hear what solution Namjoon had found. "Right now, he's still breathing, but he's lost too much blood - okay, just don't give out our personal information, keep it vague - I said don't worry, Namjoon."

"What he said?" Asked Jungkook.

"He asked a friend of his to come by," Taehyung offered as he tidied the collar of his shirt and moved toward the entrance.

"And how are we supposed to trust this friend?" Jungkook followed.

Taehyung, at Jungkook's question, halted his steps before reaching for the door's handle, turned around with a stoic demeanor to face Jungkook before he began, "we don't, Jungkook, but we will make sure no words are spilled by whatever means it takes."

The tension caused by the seriousness of the words that crossed Taehyung's lips was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone; it was an unlisted number which made him think twice before accepting the call; Jungkook gave him a look that he deciphered as a plea to avoid further tragedies, but he shrugged, there wasn't any other available solution after all.

"Yes?" Taehyung kept his gaze fixed on the body whose soul had almost left as he spoke diplomatically over the phone, "Oh, thank you so much for calling, Miss Lee; we disturbed you so late at night; I'm really sorry... Oh, yes; I'll wait for you at the runway."

It was rare for Jungkook to disagree with Taehyung; they had grown up together, had the same tastes in food and women for that matter, which was why they had fallen in love with the same girl in high school, but Jungkook considered friendship more important than romantic feelings and refused to trod on the confession stairs. Still, this night was different on many levels, divergent to the point where Jungkook was far from agreeing with Taehyung's decision.

"I won't repeat my words twice, Jungkook; the man drank too much and fell on his own; try to clean the place quickly; the doctor Namjoon called will be here in a few."

"This ain't right, Tae; you're bringing in a witness; it won't take long to backfire on us."

Taehyung considered Jungkook more than a friend, protected him with all his might from the bullies in middle school and the extortion of his in-laws, and was still willing to do the same, even if this time around, it meant felony.

"You asked me to help you; you said you can't give up your life and career, so this is me helping you right now, Jungkook," Taehyung tossed Jungkook's hand dismissively, "I'm helping you and me, so don't ruffle my feathers and do as you're told."

Help.

He was willing to trade everything to provide it; didn't give less of a fuck if it would change someone else's tomorrow when his became unpromising and obscure.

Help.

A simple word you've grown to believe is one of the human qualities, one that you swore before many others under the proud oath of Hippocrates to provide whenever and to whoever needs it.

Help.

A noun; to facilitate something for someone by offering one's services and knowledge.

But when you ran toward the door of the cabine, you weren't aware that the vocabulary knew an update, that help changed its definition to disaster, a noun whose definition is that in your tomorrow, the sun won't rise.

A/N
It has been a year since I published my first book on wattpad, and to celebrate it, I'm posting the two first chapters of TLOC.
Needless to mention how much thankful I am for your support, and I wish I keep having you around for a very long time.
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So, let's buckle up and start this new journey. Share your theories and let's discuss them. I promise, it's so much fun.
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