The river of water never followed the path you had paved for it; nothing new; you were used to the opposition, the opposition of fate, of choices, hell, even the opposition of the weather.

You've never liked the rain, you considered it a nuisance; the conference went well but could have gone even better if the humidity hadn't ruined the hairstyle your hairdresser had worked on for hours; your makeup had suffered quite a bit, too; all that, and you had a ride, you wondered if you'd have looked like a doctor at all if you had taken public transportation to Coex.

But it doesn't matter; you've landed a great deal; you won't think about finances to conduct your research for a year or so.

You considered a celebration after such joyous news, thought the lounge at Shangrilla would be a cool place for a shot or more of scotch, and maybe, if the water is nice, a quick make out with a fish that catches your eye.

But you couldn't. Fuck.

Namjoon decided to play the role of the damsel in distress, almost begged you to take a detour and go to Incheon instead.

What on earth is this curse; who goes to such a rural place on such a good evening? You should've declined.

But you couldn't, first because Namjoon is a good friend of yours who also helped you when you were in the mood to play damsel in fucking distress, and second because he promised to introduce you to some investors who could help you solve your financial crisis in the long run.

You had decided to be the boss, no longer wanting to spend twelve hours in the operating room for a salary with which you couldn't satisfy your basic needs; the risk was also greater than the salary; the responsibility weighed on your shoulders every time you spoke to a patient's family, trying your best to reassure them, even though you knew that in some cases there was no apparent hope; not to mention that with everything you did and all the successes you had reached, you just couldn't climb the ladder that your father had made sure remained out of reach for your feet.

So boss girl you became, with a lot of debts from the bank and some loan sharks, but you managed to open a practice; your hands were stable, never leaving scars behind any surgery you performed, so, one night when you were ranting about your life with Namjoon in a small pojangmacha over a few bottles of soju, he gave you the idea of becoming a plastic surgeon, and even though you were so drunk, you managed to remember the details of that conversation and took his advice.

Still, you'd have punched him right in the face if he had been with you while you waited for the person who needed help to call; you waited in the car for almost ten minutes, cursing the rainy weather more in that short time than you had in your entire life, and as soon as you decided to light your cigarette, a knock on the window interrupted your moment of joy.

"So sorry for troubling you so late at night, but circumstances made it impossible for me to bring my friend to the hospital." Spoke the man as he opened the door for you while holding an umbrella to cover your shivering body.

"Namjoon gave me head-ups," your words paused as your brain made a question displace the others in the queue, "I hope it's nothing serious, though; if the case needs more than first aid, I won't touch it."

The man chortled nervously. Still, with his boxy grin, he managed to make you resume your walk to the entrance of the house.

His attractive smile relaxed you all right, but it couldn't reassure you further as you stepped inside the house, where you were greeted by the smell of alcohol and blood.

"Please follow me," he instructed as you walked toward the foyer and led you to a room at the end of the hall where your patient was waiting.

"He's a public figure; we were talking business with some company, and it seems like he doesn't really have his alcohol under control, so he, um- he got up abruptly, and then he fell." Explained the man as you checked the patient's pulse; it was weak but palpable; from an initial diagnosis, he appeared to have lost a significant amount of blood.

"The case seems a bit complicated; he's pale, pulse is unsteady," you turned around to the man who stood behind you, "Mr?"

"Kim, you can call me Kim."

"Why didn't you take him to the hospital? Look, Mr. Kim, if you're avoiding the hospital because of drugs presumption, know that I don't want to have anything to do with this."

"He's married, and - um, we had a visitors, girls, told his wife he was on a business trip; taking him to the hospital is beyond the scope."

You wanted to believe him, no, actually, you believed him, his face conveyed honesty, and that doe-eyed friend of his seemed as sober from drugs as he was; alcohol? The whole place reeked of it, and he had just admitted they had been partying. That justified the sketchy demeanor of his friend, who stood nervously like a kid who had been caught stealing candy.

You wanted to believe him, wanted desperately for his words to be the truth so that Namjoon would keep his end of the bargain, but no matter how ignorant you wanted to be, you just couldn't find a connection between his description of the accident and the wound on the patient's skull.

You wanted to believe him, to have faith, but he was a good actor who seemed to be playing in a badly written scenario.

So you followed the logical voice in your head; couldn't give a damn about the investors Namjoon promised you when your medical license was on the line; rather skip meals to pay your debts than be ridden of what would actually make you money.

After what seemed a long period of silence, you grabbed your medical bag, stood from the bed, and, without saying a word, headed for the door.

"Doctor Lee," Taehyung's grip around your wrist stopped your momentum before you could reach for the doorknob, "what's going on?"

"That's exactly what I was going to ask, but I'll spare you my curiosity," you tossed his hand rather aggressively while maintaining eye contact, "it's been fun watching you try to make a doctor look stupid, but it's not anymore. I'm leaving now."

Leaving.

As if entering the bathroom is the same as exiting it.

And Taehyung decided to prove to you that it was indeed not the same: you enter the bathroom dirty and come out clean, smelling fresh, and so on, but this time a little change has occurred; you entered it clean, and you'd be out dirty.

Without knowing how or when, like the speed of thunder on a stormy night like the one ongoing, Taehyung pressed you against the wall, leaving no escape route other than the cold surface against which your back struck. "Listen, doctor, I want this to be easy for both of us, I really want to, so help me; this man," he pointed at Mr. Cha, "you're going to treat his wound, make sure he stays alive, and once you've done that, you can leave; how does that sound?"

Breaths heavy from the anxiety of the present and the obscurity of the future, you looked at those around you, at the dim light and nervousness in the eyes of the man who was trying his best to calm Taehyung but failing at it, at the patient whose help will destroy you, at the man whose rage was about to flood the whole house but still managed to put a sinful smile on his lips; Yes, you saw with your own eyes, but you had the feeling of observing a scene from an external perspective and refused to believe that your greed managed to lead your feet to your dismay.

"Who the hell are you? Are you guys some kind of gang? Does Namjoon know what's going on here?"

"Easy, Kim." The other man finally spoke after being mute for the entire time; he grabbed Taehyung's shoulder and forced him to release you from his cage. "Our intention isn't to harm you; he's just a little overwhelmed." He reassured.

Crying? No, that's for weak bitches; you're not one of them; you stood your ground, as you always have; after all, this wasn't the first problematic situation you've faced; sure, it was another level, you'd admit, but you still refused to show your fears. "I don't give a fuck about your intentions; I asked a question, and you either have to answer me or let me go; better the latter."

"You can ask Namjoon directly after helping this man; I mean, aren't you a doctor? Didn't you swear to save lives without discrimination? Asked Taehyung; he had backed away, buried his hands in his pockets, and summoned back his calm that was about to flee the place.

"Consider me a corrupt doctor then," you retorted, turning to reach the door once again only to feel the cold of Taehyung's gat pressed against your back.

It was a mixture of warmth, heaviness, and cold, all of which mingled together to create a feeling that made your skin clammy, your breathing irregular, and your heartbeat increase to a level that could lead to cardiac arrest; damn, what situation did you get yourself into? Wasn't what you had on your plate enough? Did you really need more?

Yes, you felt the warmth of his heavy body as he pressed it against you, face rammed into the door as he handled your squirmings; not that you danced between his grasp in all cases; you stood frozen as you realized what kind of people you were with, what kind of situation you were in.

"I said do we have an understanding, doctor?" Taehyung asked, "the poor man is suffering; let's not waste any more time."

Words refused to flee from the fear of facing your same fate; tears were cowardly too, but common sense and logic were there for you and made you realize that it would be better to put your foul temper on vacation and submit without resistance, which you did, though forced; Taehyung had pushed you towards the bed; a rough action, he'd admit, but you left him no choice; Jungkook contemplated, almost refused to take part of what was transpiring but he pointed to your medical bag with a pleading look, that for a second, made you pity him the way you were pitying yourself.

In your first year of medical school, you hated the sight of wounds; always felt like puking in anatomy class. Every time you were asked to pick up a clamp and practice suturing a cadaver, your hands would shake; it had cost you most of the money you made from your part-time jobs on therapy to overcome the fear, too many hours of practice too that every time a new cadaver came in, you thanked it for giving up its body for what you considered a greater good; but never could you have imagined that after becoming famous for your stable hands, you'd be back at square one in a goddamn rural house, with sweaty hands that barely managed to switch between Metzenbaum scissors and the salicylic solution, which led you to ask for help from the ignorant Jungkook, whom you wanted to advise to have an MRI scan to rule out Parkinson's disease.

Was it one hour? Two? You didn't know for sure how much time had passed since you had successfully finished your work; your phone was taken away from you, your handbag too, and in the confines of your patient's room, you were forced to stay; a doctor at his side to check his vital signs was the reason that justified why you weren't allowed to leave the cabine after you had fulfilled your part of the bargain.

Jungkook had asked you if you needed anything; Taehyung even prepared food you didn't want to eat because your appetite demanded the kind of food he couldn't serve yet; answers.

While you waited for Mr. Cha to regain consciousness-which, you were sure he won't in the next few hours-your brain couldn't stop drawing conclusions about Namjoon's involvement in all of this; you felt betrayed at the mere thought of being sold to danger in this way, but you couldn't deprive him of the luxury of doubt neither; what if he doesn't know the details any more than you do?

For fuck's sake, he was a friend. Your dear friend.

No way in hell.

Taehyung also thought about friendship, its values, its meaning, and how far one can go to protect it; he had isolated himself in the stable for quite some time; had had enough of Jungkook's nagging; couldn't relate to Jungkook's humanity that suddenly lit up, not considering that there was really no other choice, that he had to be the monster that forced the princess to close her eyes in fear until she surrendered to sleep so that their morning could rise, even if it doesn't shine, even if it remains gloomy, as long as the light illuminates the sky, the clouds that cover the sun don't matter.

It was quiet, just him and Zeus, his beloved stallion; Taehyung always took refuge from the cruelty of the world in the gentleness he found in the company of his horses; found comfort when they were around; thought Zeus would ease his nervousness, as it usually does, but soon found that calmness wasn't the dress code his night had opted for.

Taehyung first thought Jungkook was checking on him when he heard the stable door open; the sound of your heavy breathing and quick footsteps suggested otherwise.

He cursed Jungkook for taking his weapon in an attempt at damage prevention, felt defenseless in front of the sudden intrusion until the sight of you calmed his unease.

You were doing what best you could've done, hiding behind the door while glancing outside through the creak to make sure no one was following you, sighing in relief when you found you had no company, letting your guard down earlier than you should have, and crouching with your back to the door to enjoy the freedom you were robbed of.

Jungkook was easier to deal with than Taehyung, which made you take advantage of his kindness. When you stopped hearing the sound of the bottle hitting the glass and the liquor being poured in, you decided to take the risk after carefully considering the damage it could lead to and when you reckoned that the worst that could happen if you jumped out the window would be a cracked ankle, you gathered your balls under the name of freedom.

You'd have erased the night from your memory, forgotten the names you heard, the address, heck, you'd have even announced sudden amnesia from early Alzheimer's, even gone so far as to consider selling your practice and moving to another city, maybe even another country; after all, you had no one to stay in Seoul for, and if you gave up the practice to keep yourself alive, you'd also give up your roots in the counterpart.

Your car keys were taken away from you; they were in your purse, to which you had no access, and since you had no phone either, you figured your only option was to run until you found a place to hide, and after nearly fifteen minutes of unsolicited training, you found a damn barn in the middle of nowhere with the door open, inviting you in.

It was poorly lit, the smell not quite to your liking, but again it wasn't the time to be fractious; you'd spray a ton of perfume after a good shower when you'd manage to reach your apartment, somehow. The place seemed to be inhabited only by horses, which made it ideal for your current situation.

But karma exists, and since you have shortened Taehyung's moment of solitude, he has decided to do the same with yours.

Your eyes gazed intently at the ground as a pair of Oxfords came into view; you refused to look up at the person in front of you for fear it might be your monster or another unfamiliar one; your breaths, which had just eased, resumed their previous position, like trained soldiers, making it hard for your heart to maintain a steady beat and even harder to swallow the lump in your throat.

Beads of sweat began to gather and decided to glisten your forehead as the man leaned down to your seat level, "let's assume you ran here out of excitement to deliver me the good news because, you see, I prefer to see the positive in any situation, doctor Lee; you should have saved yourself the trouble though, J could have gotten the message through, I bothered you again."

Taehyung tugged at your forearm and forced you to stand up, "I don't wanna give Namjoon's friend a taste of my wrath; besides, you're my guest, so this is what we'll do: We'll go back in a civilized manner without using violence; can I count on your understanding?"

A/N
So? What do you think about it?