Lies are bad.

Lies are relationship killers.

Lies are enemies inducers.

Lies are what earned Namjoon a dislocated jaw and deducted a friend from Taehyung's list. He couldn't get over the situation, felt disgusted with the opportunistic side Namjoon had shown to the point where bile rose in his gullet sitting across from him.

Taehyung had received a call from Prince, a guard who usually took the night shifts to keep an eye on you. He told him that he had orders to withdraw and that Namjoon was the one who gave them. At first, he thought that Namjoon had finally lost his mind out of compassion, which was infuriating in itself, but when you opened those plump lips and let out your words like the chirping of a bird on a warm spring morning, he was left to confront the atrocity of Namjoon's twisted realities.

Namjoon had also called a while after Prince's call and told him that you were on the run, which justified why he had taken you to the warehouse. Which, by all means, was real; you were fleeing from him.

From your friend.

Instead of admitting that he raided your house at 5 a.m., he made it look like a security guard called for backup. When he learned the truth, Taehyung couldn't tell where the disappointment ran deeper, where Namjoon's lies came from, or the lack of his faith.

Taehyung settled for the latter. He wouldn't question his faith in Namjoon or Jungkook, expected the same from them as well.

At least from them. His friends.

For fuck's sake, he was like an open book with him, full of scribbles written in pitch-black ink that he feared others would interpret as some kind of Vodou, but he always believed that Namjoon would read the hidden meaning behind them, for they shared the same engravings.

And he was disappointed, and although he had experienced the feeling more than once, this whole situation made him realize that he had not gained immunity from the various vaccinations, felt feverish for days in the aftermath, which skyrocketed his wrath like no PMS.

"For fuck's sake, she was your friend," Jungkook spat, "what's gotten into you, Namjoon?"

"She is," Namjoon pursed his lips in agony; his shoulder still ached, but he was glad to hear that he could still use his hand without problems; couldn't afford to lose the hand that handles scalpels and bipolar biceps, "she's even more than that."

To him, yes, you were; to you, he was just a friend.

But Namjoon never got over that night you spent together. You were drunk and so in need of affection that a simple pillow would have sufficed, but Namjoon was in the same state, as horny as they get. The alcohol only emitted heat to every muscle more than it should have; hence, when the morning sun illuminated the room and tickled your sleepy figure, you figured out that the heat you felt the night before had been already subdued, and all of a sudden, winter broke into your heart.

Namjoon had told you that no physical shit could come between your friendship; he had convinced you that it was a mistake for which you were both responsible and that he wouldn't bring the matter up as long as you forgot it, which you ended up doing, indeed.

You, only you; he never forgot; couldn't forget.

Namjoon carried the memory like a precious stone between his callous fingers, never reached closure, and knew he never would. The feelings were so overwhelming that he gave up and cherished your mere presence until, one day, closure forced its way into his heart.

Namjoon wasn't sure if his heart had stopped beating for you, but he was sure that you would never listen to his heartbeats. He blamed Taehyung for this and felt that it was his harsh and misplaced slap that had made you deaf.

Deep down, however, he knew his heartbeat had stopped the moment he sent you into the cabine. If you dig further, he might admit that his heartbeat was set at a low volume from the beginning to keep you around; he was aware that the slightest noise would cause you to sprint away.

"Let us leave the riddles aside for now, Namjoon," Taehyung began, his cigarette still fuming the same way his anger did, the only difference being that the cigarette at least burned for him, but his anger burned against him, "what made you lie, why did you switch alliances?"

It could have been a simple answer if the world were simple, but neither the words were easy to find, nor was the situation easy to describe. The complication forced Namjoon to grip the sheets in his fists tighter than he would like for Taehyung to witness and to lower his head in shame.

Namjoon knew that your threats weren't empty, knew that doom would not be long in coming if you gave in to your anger; it was no longer a matter of the mishap that had happened; rather, your eventual visit to the police would have brought other, deeper mishaps to light.

You were aware, too; Taehyung, on the other hand, wasn't, which is why he blamed Namjoon's lack of transparency and good faith for what happened.

Had you opened your little mouth, even to accuse Taehyung, the fact that you would be bringing up Namjoon would have been enough for the police to issue a warrant for his arrest; what he did, and the existing files against him were enough grounds; he had priors, he wasn't blank.

And you knew that very well, which is why you pressured him until his patience ran out. You would not have done that if he had left you alone, if he had protected you from the beginning; you were not a bitch to use his past against him, but he was a bastard to use every weakness against you.

"Long story short, I was blackmailed."

"Not enough, Namjoon, convince me even more. You wouldn't just reduce her to rubble like that, wouldn't lie in clod blood either." Argued Taehyung.

But lies were easier to tell and also easier to believe.

Lies are a cheap shield that protects against the stray bullets of a hard truth; lies are like cheap replicas of expensive diamonds that are easy to put a hand on but hard to make a profit from.

Still, lies have softer edges, sympathetic ones that are easily tempting; they let you tread paths without them impassable; they let you see hope in gloomy darkness without them unbearable.

Lies were what brought your smile back; Taehyung had freed you after he had made his point. While you still had his guards walking around you all day, it did not irritate you as it used to; perhaps because there were fewer of them or because they were becoming more subtle with their movements, you were not sure, but you still appreciated the effort. Therefore, you were able to enjoy the call you received to a degree you did not know you could achieve. It could be that your relaxed mind played a trick on you or the fact that you chose to pay no heed to the truth, not so sure about it.

The last time your mother called was to express her thoughts about you. She had told you how much of a disappointment you were, and for a moment, you agreed with her; however, this time, she called to tell you how much she missed you and damn if you didn't have a soft spot for your parents' affections.

You weren't one to be easily touched; your mother knew, so did Namjoon, but the crisis took your heart to places you did not know it was capable of. You wanted to blame it on that, but you knew better than anyone that you were really just a child who needed attention and tenderness.

It has not been years, but it has been an eternity since you last saw your mother. It was your decision, no one forced you, but somehow you felt compelled to keep your distance, from her, from the world.

Come to think of it, it has been ten years since you moved out, ten years since you raised your voice and made your point. You couldn't just sit back with sealed lips, nor could you continue accepting their demands as you did before; so, with your legal age attained, you reached for the door with much less in your pockets than your bank account.

Days turned into months and months into years, and your pride refused to disappear; You had promised to build a future for yourself, and neither your mother's phone calls nor your father's blocked bank cards could have changed that reality; so you let the news about you get through to them while you refused to go near your family's home.

"It has been ages, Yunjae. Your father is ill, and so am I; I must see you; I need to hug you, my daughter."

You would have wished to say that the version you had on the phone was actually your mother, would have wished she were as loving, but you knew better than to believe empty words of comfort; yet you found yourself doing the very thing your mind had opposed, standing upright before the door you had left without a penny or even a coat to cover your shivering figure.

"Mrs. Baek, it's been so long! How are you? How is your knee?" You inquired. Hands open for a warm hug you dearly missed.

There wasn't much you missed in your household if it were not for Miss Baek and your dog. She was there to welcome you back, unlike your sister, who stood there with a blank expression on her face that you couldn't read, but your dog could not wag his tail to greet you because, like everything you cherished, he disappeared.

He died.

"I missed you too," she reciprocated the hug, "I missed you a lot."

There was nothing that could soothe your angry feelings better than Miss Baek. She had always been there for you, whether during your childhood when you had difficulty adjusting to your peers or when you were thrown out of your household, and sometimes you wondered if it was her umbilical cord that had nourished you as a fetus, for she was more of a mother than your own.

"Your mother is waiting in the living room," she informed as she released the embrace with a smile on her face. She had aged, wrinkles exposing her before she could retrieve a year or two from her actual age. "I have prepared your favorite meal, come to the kitchen before you go; oh dear," she spun you, inspecting your figure, "you've lost too much weight; it must be really hard being a doctor, sweet Yunjae."

An airy laugh unexpectedly left your lips. The last thing you would have expected was to laugh in the confines of your old house, let alone in the presence of your stepsister, no less.

She was your father's former mistake but, strangely enough, your mother's pride and joy. Sometimes it was hard to understand where that love came from, but whenever you looked at the big picture, you found it easier to see the source, but that did not mean it brought you comfort; on the contrary, it made your anger and envy even wilder.

She was everything you were not; she had the cleverness that your parents claimed you did not have; domestic, you judged, stripped of well- power and liberty; however, your parents would contradict your depiction and say that she was indeed the epitome of a good child, which cast the contrast between you and made you seem like a witch in an old Disney movie of poor quality that you would refuse to watch.

"I'm on a diet," you assured, eyes roaming around in an attempt to glimpse your mother before your father catch sight of you, "I'm getting old, I should watch my figure."

"Stop this nonsense," she whispered as her weak fist tapped your shoulder, eliciting a laugh that was hard to bring to life, a peal of laughter that soon disappeared when your father's voice unexpectedly appeared.

"Yunjae, follow me to my office."

It was dry, few words that knew no affection, no familiar tones to make them easier to digest; it wasn't a shock, you were almost used to this kind of behavior that a softer one would have come as an uncalled-for surprise.

Between you and him, there was only a last name, and you wished it would remain that way; no feelings, no further disappointments, no heavy hearts.

"I'll see you later, sweets," you assured her as you gripped her slender shoulders tightly.

You have wondered where your mother is, but you would not go so far as to say that her absence has touched you. You accepted the invitation because she mentioned how ashamed she was of your uncles, and you only went because you filled your head with false expectations.

No more, no less.

However, not in thousands of years would you have expected to see your father, given the fact that the invitation came directly from your mother. You thought she would give her usual boring moral sermons and let you off the hook, seeing your father meant trouble, and you were not prepared to add to the pile.

Your father had several dreams for you, none of which involved you becoming a doctor. He loved you as a child; you would even say that he loved you more than your sister, that the time he spent with you never seemed wasted for him, but that all changed when you graduated from high school.

Your graduation day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but somehow it turned out to be a sour memory that you failed to scrub; Your father preferred docile girls who showed the potential to become what he wanted them to be, but to his dismay, or perhaps yours, that was not the case with you.

So on the same day you threw away the mortarboard, you also threw away his conditional love and your mother's false appreciation and became homeless.

You were grateful you were eighteen by that time, at least many motels accepted your stay once you flashed your Id; it could have been worst.

You followed through the dimly lit corridor until the light from his office illuminated the way. Your mouth went dry, and you wished your mother would show up with a glass of water to moisten your throat, which you felt was about to be split; you weren't a big fan of your mother's comportment, you'd admit, but a mother is a mother nonetheless.

You feared the consequences your mother would face after your departure as you sat in the chair in front of your father's desk; thought she would face his wrath for having invited you and being caught in the middle of the deed, but the worry disappeared once your eye glimpsed the court's courrier that sat shamelessly on your father's desk.

Worry disappeared, and liquid courage flowed through your veins as you grasped the envelope and met his icy eyes, "What's the matter, Dad?"

Lies are beautiful, and you wanted to hear some; you'd have paid the balance into your bank account and accepted the misery that your father had imposed on you alongside fate to hear him say that, in fact, everything was fine, that your mother would get in trouble for defying his orders, but it would not go beyond blocking her cards or forbidding her to hold her regular tea-time meetings with other housewives, you wished him to remind you that you were not allowed in his household and to kick your ass out without dramatically increasing your problems, which you could neither share nor solve.

The reality is frightening, and suddenly you found yourself thinking of Taehyung's sweet lies and how they saved you from an unforgivable danger. You had blamed him, accused him of ruining your life, but in the end, you had directed your anger at your friend and, after long consideration, admitted that your greed and insensitive thoughts were to blame.

Although you refused to admit it, the protection offered by the cabine was something you craved while your father sat in his plush chair lighting a cigar; his eyes remained locked in yours while yours bounced back and forth between his and the notice in turn; he had not spoken, and that stressed you out a bit more.

It had all hitten you without warning in a second that made the lies Namjoon had spread seem light and borderline innocent compared to your mother's invitation. It all seemed more dangerous than the cabine and whatever had happened three months ago, making you wish to relive the moment for as long as it meant escaping your father's office and breathing fresh oxygen, even if it was only for seconds.

"Economic crisis," he began in a voice an octave lower than usual, though it radiated a different kind of warmth, one that seemed tainted and made your stomach do somersaults under the hand that sat over it, "which is why I need your help."

"What help?" You inquired in a hoarse voice and trembling hands. Your father knew that there wasn't a penny in your name; he actually made sure of that when he kicked you out after you told him you would not continue your studies unless you studied medicine.

You'd have found out what you have in common with Taehyung if you had shared your agonies and gray pasts.

Perhaps if you had met under different circumstances, for example, in one of the meetings for discarded and emotionally disadvantaged children.

But even if you had, you would have told him that you were so very different, utterly brave in comparison. You stood your ground, welcomed misery and did not give it a chance to scare you, fought for your dream and pursued it despite the complications; even when it became clear that your decision may have been wrong from the start, you held your head high and refused to seek help.

Until you were asked to provide help.

"This is your chance to make up for your bad decisions, Yunjae," your father began, looking boredly into your eyes as he continued, "Your marriage is settled, and all is needed is your presence to overcome this predicament; in return, I promise you that your business will never be in trouble. But if you violate my instructions again, dear Yunjae, shutting your practice won't be the only thing I'd do; be wise."

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