Plates of hot soup passed in and out of the room with no visible change in quantity or how they were served. It was alarming, Taehyung thought. Something that, if it continued at this rate, would have disastrous consequences. Planned destruction.

He had a phobia of that. Had seen this scenario before and thought it made him sick to his stomach.

So he took action, keen to save what little was left of you before it also turned to ashes.

Just like Jimin.

The hardest part of grieving is acknowledging the loss. Denial is the softer phase, something that comes later, after decades of tears and suffering. At first, you resisted acceptance, defying a fate that was already sealed. Thought the trick would work its magic as long as you didn't see his body bare of soul and the golden hue that constituted a large part of him. However, Taehyung insisted that you should bid goodbye, to see, touch and feel what you would never have the chance to see again. Something about soothing the soul with certainty rather than lashing it with doubt.

And that's what you did. You killed the doubt and engraved the denial.

Except for the bloodcurdling cry of loss at the sight of the man you love lying in a refrigerator, no words came out of your mouth. The tears that followed were silent, and the lack of words caused by the absence of the right ones that would have done justice to such a goodbye choked your breath, lowered your body temperature, and you blamed it on the damn air conditioning and the smell of death.

But Taehyung saw it for what it was and relied on logical thoughts instead of metaphorical explanations: Panic attack. And by the time he made the connection between the pale face and the rapid breaths, it was already too late.

By the time you fell to the ground and the fist relinquished its grip on Jimin's hand, Taehyung seemed to have forgotten the vocabulary and all the words in it, save for an "I'm sorry" delivered to you in his embrace that you couldn't hear and wouldn't change anything even if you did.

When you woke up, head fuzzy and eyes burning from the light of the fluorescent tube on the ceiling, your hand was clasped between a larger one, a warmer one, and you liked to think that Jimin finally returned your touch, understood your silent pleas for him not to leave, the promises that it would all be worth it if he gave you a second chance before your eyes went blank, overtaken by darkness.

Taehyung didn't take his hand back as you kept glancing at the way it was connected to yours. The silver band around his ring finger declared that it was where it belonged without him telling tales. He didn't like the idea of giving up. On people, on things, it didn't matter. It was all the same, and he had a principle to behold.

His thumb stroked the soft skin as he asked you how you felt, and when your voice cracked as it delivered a half-hearted "I'm okay," he reached for the water bottle on the bedside table, opened it, and filled the glass that stood next to it before handing it to you. When the first sip went down the pipe, his hand was felt over your shoulders, just below your neck, trying to help you sit up in a position that would make it easier to down the proffered liquid.

There was no verbal conversation to be held; eyes were doing the job, communicating feelings of support in a difficult situation that could only be overcome with help. He stayed in the hospital room with you all night, called his assistant to get a black suit fit for the instance. Requested something to be brought from your house for you too. The pajamas you had come to the hospital in were not the best for attending a funeral.

When the attack seemed to have left you to fight reality, he called for the nurse to check on your condition and take off the IV. See, Taehyung wasn't unaware of the boundaries that lead you to different horizons. In fact, he knew exactly where the limits were drawn. So, although he felt sorry for your weak condition caused by the effects of the sedative you were given, he didn't offer to help you get into the clothes that were on the couch to the left of the bed. Instead, he called a nurse and ignored the strange looks. He had stated that he was your husband when he signed your admission to the ER, so he kind of understood the confusion the nurse might have felt at his request, but he couldn't care less about it.

He couldn't add more discomfort to your already battered state just to preserve his image.

When you came out of the room, he was sitting on one of the chairs in the corridor. Silence refused to leave, but there was a certain comfort in it - comfort in his eyes, in the touch of his hand as it enveloped yours and led you to the mortuary.

The last parting words were spoken, and then it was time to let Jimin rest in his final bed. This was the most difficult moment if you were to choose one of them. Admittedly, the overall situation was morbid, sorrowful, and you would admit that it would change your life forever.

But when the coffin was pushed into the incinerator and the last vestige of patience drained from your heart, driving you toward a state where you wished you could scream goodbye instead of stifling a prayer, you appreciated the way his arm circled your shoulder and pressed your face to his chest, muffling the scream that never made contact with reality, letting you cry it in his embrace instead.

In that moment, you put the feud aside. The hatred and all agendas that belonged to a world that could end so quickly by the decision of death, and hugged him with a strength you never knew you possessed. Embraced him with the intention of finding the warmth of a mother's affection you never experienced, the protection of a father who disappointed you more times than you could count, and a friend you wished was different from the one who betrayed your trust.

"I've got you. Let it out, Yunjae. Cry it out and come out of it strong. You have to. I need you strong for what's to come."

And his words were not false promises. See, Taehyung may be many things. A heartless person and a selfish asshole, but he was not a promise-breaker. In fact, he always was true to his words, to his feelings. And now his feelings were aligned with his words. They were both on the same side and pursuing the same goal.

To end the tyranny that subjected him, and now you, to acquiesce.

And you liked to believe his words as you carried Jimin's ashes and finally left the hospital. Would have wished to follow his advice and emerge stronger, but your shoulders remained drooping, your feet weak and barely able to support themselves, collapsing as soon as they touched the floor of your room.

You refused to leave your room, forcing him to take your meals to your bed, where you huddled into a fetal position and the blanket covered your head whenever he tried to pull aside the curtains to let in light. The air inside became stale, smelling of depression and abandoned hope. The way things looked evoked some memories he had worked hard to forget; figured he never did; they were just stored safely in his amygdala, and now they threatened to resurface.

He was grateful for the long time he had spent in therapy. It had given him a kind of shield that kept him from breaking, even though he hated those sessions more than anything - maybe even more than he hated his father.

But despite the strong shield, if you had taken the covers off and looked into his eyes, you would have seen the pain he was trying to hide. If you had turned the light up a notch when he brought you dinner, you would have seen how much this situation mirrored what his mother had gone through, and if you had asked him if he was okay, he might have lost the rest of his protective shield altogether.

There is more in common between you than you can ever phatom. It's just that the chance for a proper introduction has never been given. You weren't the only one who lost a loved one because of his father; he had lost his own mother because of him. It's just that the situation knew a little variety. That's all.

"You need to eat something, Yunjae," his voice was stern, but you didn't fail to pick up the hint of concern it carried, "If you think you can get Jimin justice by giving yourself up, you're utterly wrong."

Justice? How are you going to give him justice when you were the one who put him through hell? Would have liked to see Taehyung hear that question even though it never crossed your lips. Thought you could find solace in it. Considered the answer would be sugarcoated, buttered to soothe dry scales, but would act as a hug nonetheless. A warm blanket over a cold body.

But then again, it's the same question that led you to a tide you could no longer stem. What brought Jimin to the country when you were sure he was an ocean away? Granted, it was easy to bring him back when revenge was ready to be served, but it still didn't make sense. No one knew his location, not even your husband. Fortunately, he didn't know. Otherwise, he would have been the first suspect.

When the first question remained a prisoner of silence, this one broke the bonds.  Leapt over fenced walls and took a breath of air. "He was far away. I made sure the whereabouts were unknown. How did he bring him back? I just can't wrap my head about it."

And Taehyung - despite the morbid situation - was grateful that you finally decided to share your mind. Thought you'd be disgusted to have the offspring of a monster by your side. Would refuse to breathe the same air, let alone have a discussion.

"But you didn't operate alone. Am I wrong?"

The question wasn't really asked for any particular reason but to confirm the statement that preceded it. It was meant to open your eyes to new horizons. New theories. Wished you hadn't heard it, though. Couldn't bear the weight of it. Already felt overwhelmed by it.

"Do you mean...?"

"Listen, Yunjae," the way he lowered his voice without losing the tenderness he had reserved for you in the past few days was bad news, but you couldn't deny that his hands warming yours managed to ease the anxiety. Found it odd, and in another situation, you would have thrown it away. But you didn't want to. Rather, you wanted it never to leave you to the cold of another betrayal and outrageous disappointment in humankind. "Our world is a big chessboard. Pawns are discarded at will. The game is not for amateurs, only for veterans. But here's the thing: We never get proper training. Are never introduced to the game; the game finds us first. The colors of our pawns, too, and we find ourselves playing, losing a lot, but when we understand that the key to the game is never to trust completely and to consider even the spectators as potential players, we start to win, too. Become veterans."

The words lodged in your brain rather painfully, and you were grateful that his thumb kept drawing lazy patterns in the center of your palm. Ever so true to his nature. Never considering a middle ground for anything. Always carrying the pride of the two poles. So far apart, and yet they had so much in common. Words were poison; his touch was the antidote.

"Yoongi."

"Had his reasons. I don't condone his actions. But believe me, he must have a valid reason, and if he doesn't...anyway, let's assume he does. We don't want to be on the same side of the chessboard as them. If we play, we'd rather keep it clean. For our pride. To make it a clean win, well, when we finally win"

"But we aren't sitting on the same side. We never did. I never did. I've always been the opponent, and you should see it that way, too. The way it actually is."

Confrontation never tasted flavory; in fact, it was always sour like medicine. But medicine is necessary to cure illness. Whether physical or mental, it doesn't matter. Both need it to be cured. And Taehyung needed medicine to get rid of a flu of delusion that lasted so long that it could turn into bronchitis.

His hand left yours before you could voluntarily take that step. Getting up from the bed that had been praying for a break for days, you went to your drawer and pulled out a picture, at which you intently looked before turning to face him, the vignette still hidden in your hand until you reached the bed and tossed it into his lap.

If your words earlier were medicine for the flu, then what he was seeing was chemotherapy. A strong dose that made his body feel weak and vulnerable. Made him think of giving up the sessions and forgetting about healing altogether.

When his eyes met yours, red staining the cornea, rendering the pupil glossy, you were overcome with a slight feeling of guilt. It was curious, though, the way you also felt at par. Both attacked with loss. Felt good to know that in misery, you weren't alone.

"He never thought of you as a player on his team because, Taehyung, chess is not a team game. And after hearing your mother's story from so-called spectators, I firmly believe that he did not even consider you a player, but rather a pawn on his chess board."

Seeing the salty drop on the picture's surface, he regretted that he had worked to restore your voice. Should have left you to silence and your own demons instead of being forced to meet up with his again.

He thought he had a secret, something hidden from you still. The realization that he stood there naked, stripped of the clothes of privacy, penetrated so deeply beyond the epidermis of pride. It pierced the organs.

The bed lost the daint when he got up and walked silently to the door. The curve on his shoulders made you think of the line you had crossed. You reckoned it was a mountain and not just a simple line. But you had to be sure he wasn't just feeling sorry for your case; you wanted him to share your motive instead.

"Start with Yoongi," you said, "small steps. Will learn to approach the monster slowly. Take Yoongi out. Shake the fortress before you tear it down."

Your voice was authoritative. Commanding. Each word lifted your chin, straightened your spine. Voicing the plan made you feel like you have accomplished the goal. It happens often. A scheme of the brain. A momentary boost of ego that intoxicates the bloodstream. You knew it was an unhealthy indulgence, but you had another brain to convince that wasn't yours, and you needed that little confidence, even if it was only cinematic.

The halt in his steps didn't mean his voice would end the silence, but you had hope. Trusted him enough. And it's funny, really. He had just taught you a lesson in trust, and you had just learned where unconditional trust could lead, yet your gut supported another attempt at something so tender and sensitive. Thought he kind of earned it, unlike the other people in your life.

"That's a pawn already captured. An x has been noted and will be announced soon," he turned around only after having liberated the words; looked at you over his shoulder, sparing you a look you wouldn't be able to handle. "The way I see it, though, makes me think that you're a lot like my father. Makes me wonder if he's the only monster here."