He checked his watch. It had only been fifteen minutes. Too soon. He'd mentioned at one point that he lived in seoul; it would be a little longer before he reached home.

He was to worried to sit still. He went downstairs to his study on the second floor, and sat down behind the big, carved hardwood desk he'd had shipped from France, and picked up the phone. Two rings, then a deep, male voice. Park Jimin, owner of an art gallery, was a world-renowned art expert. He was one of Taehyung's oldest and dearest friends.

"Park here."

"Jimin, it's Taehyung."

"Taehyung. How are you?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Well, you have me."

Where to start? He ran his hand through his hair. He'd have to start at the beginning.

"I have to talk to you about a boy."

Jimin chuckled. "Not my specialty, Taehyung."

"Oh, come on. I know you prefer your beautiful women, but you know people better than anyone."

"Now you flatter me. I like it. So, what seems to be the problem?"

"This boy, Jungkook. I met him at the club I go to. And he agreed to bottom for me, even though he think's he's a top."

"Interesting."

"You have no idea." neither had he, until he'd had Jungkook in his hands. Christ.

"the thing is, he's really fighting this. Something happened and he left in tears. He won't talk about it. I don’t know how to fix it."

"Why do you have to fix it?"

"Because it was me fault!"

"Was it?"

"His well-being was my responsibility. And I blew it. I had him in my hands, and I mishandled the situation horribly, misread what he needed." he paused, frustrated, "This wasn’t what I'd intended. I wanted to open him up, yes, but not like this. I may be a sadist, but I never want to cause anyone real pain. Not the kind that cuts soul-deep. Maybe there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but he was in my hands, he was my responsibility. I screwed this one up royally, Jimin. It's unforgivable."

"I think sometimes you take on too much, Taehyung. You cannot fix everything. This boy, Jungkook, he is not your mother, your sister."

"Damn it, Jimin, I'm aware of that."

"Are you?"

He blew out a long breath, tried to calm down. "Taking care of my family after my father left is hardly the same situation."

"You were twelve years old," his friend said quietly.

"I did what I had to do."

"What do you think you have to do now? Now that your mother is gone, your sister is married. . .is this boy some sort of replacement responsibility?"

"What? No, of course not." but was there some truth there after all? "I need to think about this."

"Yes, you do. I'm confident you'll find the best way to handle things. Let me know what happens."

"I will."

He put the phone down, not sure if he felt any better. Still antsy, he went back up to his studio and took out his frustration in cleaning the mess of flowers, gathering the ropy vines in his arms stuffing them into a trash bag.  He couldn’t stand throwing them all away. They'd looked so incredible on his body, against that smooth, fair skin. He'd wanted t