Author's Note: The title is based on the poem 'Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock' by Wallace Stevens. Furthermore, there is an allusion to suicide so read at your own caution.

Police calls never come at a convenient time nor do they bear good news, ruining a perfect sunset on the prelude to the evening designated for being with a beloved at least once a week, the pause in the hectic schedule allowing. Now, with the rapid manic buzzing of the phone in the faux leather clutch, the sole chance to be together before yet another concert takes the rapper away again for a continuation of the global tour with two other friends is nullified. However, both souls on the shore know what the routine call is about, even though the round-faced man has never been fully accepting of them.

In fact, even though leaving the thought unspoken to avoid tension in the relationship that is a haven of normalcy, the significance of a delinquent to an untainted soul has made the platinum-haired musician wonder more than once who is truly loved. Text messages indirectly asking for an answer to this dilemma always result in some type of not wholly fulfilling contact, howbeit in the form of a mere talk or bodily -sometimes intense - affection.

Jasper eyes turn away from the ever on-going ebb and flow of the vast ocean, look away from the peaceful scene to bask in before setting off to a nearby restaurant straying from the rest by the pier by not serving crab. It shall always remain an adorable feat of the baritone-voiced giant, holding such affection for so tiny a creature. 'It's him again, isn't it?'

A deep sigh goes accompanied by an acknowledging nod, confirming the suspicions aroused in the silence filled with the loud crashing of waves and unintelligible chatter made worse by the screeching of seagulls in the background. 'I'm sorry, Joon. I also wish it didn't happen right now, that he doesn't need me again, but he does.'

'Y/N, one day this has to stop. You've done all that you can and I get to see you so little already so imagine how it feels each time the phone goes over because of him.' A big tanned palm frames the cheek still staring at the sea which is warming up with the default shame that goes paired with placing a straying long-time friend before a steady future, guiding it gently albeit with a little force into a locking of gazes. 'This isn't the first time and won't be the last, I know. Yet, try to understand how I feel about this because one day I want for us to leave this city and find a quiet place devoid of paparazzi chasing scandalous gossip. When the glory fades, I want an apartment or house for the both of us which we can call home, maybe even start a family. However, we can't if this interference will persist.'

'Would you leave me because of it?' Sight goes hazy with triggered tears fearing the final straw has been reached in the relationship complicated by an illogically loved third party, a broken guy who is held dear in a friendly manner instead of the deeper version in which the ashen-haired rapper is. Nonetheless, Namjoon does not know the whole not always pretty history with Taehyung, thus unable to comprehend what is the essential value of the bond with the lawbreaker.

'No. No, of course not, babe. All I'm asking for is that you make this clear to him. That, at some point, you won't be able to come to his aid anymore.' The intonation suggests there is more to be said yet hapless plush lips remain silent after a bold attempt at speaking of the whispering scar inflicted at and which has continued to linger from the start. Notwithstanding, it has never been reopened vocally despite its becoming gradually graver condition nor will it now, so it seems.

Withal, after tonight the situation shall stop entirely with a farewell to solacing benefits. But not before establishing a firm hint that betrays knowledge of the true motivation for the innocently proposed request. 'That he won't be able to leave a trace on me anymore, you mean. Don't pretend to be ignorant, because I know you hate his scent on me.'

'At least he's never marked you because I can tolerate the desire for contact when I'm not there to give it, both sexually and normally. Regardless, ironically, I can't bear the thought of him actually placing his brand on you.' The kiss on the forehead received with shut lashes smiling ruefully feels insincere, as it always does when finding ourselves in this old conundrum. 'Go, I'll cancel the reservation. Know that I'm not mad, baby. Just call me later, alright?'

To say who is genuinely loved.

Closeness vanishes into cold distance seemingly so far removed from the sentiments maintaining the warmth in the precariously fragile relationship for they are still true yet can remove themselves so easily at times. The agreeing nod, for example, is too formal to actually be seen as a gesture of wanting to be trusted by a steady beloved, seen as a move out of affection promising something real. 'Alright. And, Joon?'

It is all a disillusionment of what was thought to be.

A lopsided sad sliver of a smile is endeavoured to be shaped on a mouth malformed into a stern straight line, unoccupied hands formerly resting on upper arms now wanting to reach out again to those that cannot be grasped fully until the issue has been solved permanently. Henceforth, they tuck themselves into the pockets of loose-fitting jeans as posture visibly becomes a tad awkward. 'Yeah?'

'I love you, always have. Never doubt that.' Speech is hardly shy of cracking while the sorrowful failing covering of warring emotions cannot be mirrored from the man sandaled feet slowly begin to leave behind. 'Never.'

The statement is a simple deception keeping fading emotions at bay.

An illusion.

A curt nod will have to do for a full reply, consenting to never question the love of a girl caught between worlds and accepting the isolation coming with that same individual now on the way to become a saviour once more.

Reality is nothing but a pipe dream.

***

The walk to the apartment a little ways away removed from Namjoon's, the stroll from the police station to an emotionally conflicted home with a friend who has more significance thanks to a connection going deeper than friendship, passes in the usual quiet fashion. Each time the damage is measured from the corners of the eyes in the moving hush in the hopes of discovering the direct cause for being caught while illegally expressing wanton creativity while entwined fingers promise to stay by the honey-skinned criminal's side.

At least they will this night.

Because, hereafter, it all ends.

No more lonely nights acting on the agreed upon rules, that becoming one is just a means to drive out the desolation forced upon young shoulders by the world.

No more rescue attempts on nights meant for another, only the logically true significant man with whom one day a good life away from the public's eye can be created so that the uncomfortable quietly disapproving tolerance can genuinely be erased.

No more whiskey and lavender warmth tuning out the pain of freshly bleeding cuts and sickly bruises just to be held, wrap hurting yet secure arms dusted with fine dark hairs around the waist of a steady anchor in an abusing life.

Everything comes at a cost. It is simply up to the individual to decide whether or not they are willing to pay it.

And this transaction is currently on credit.

The wallet is waiting for the disillusionment.

The dimly lit concrete streets are replaced for the brightly lit monotone cool tiled hallway with onyx doors protected by codes after a short ride with the elevator that also passes in a wordless style, the boy with the hood avoiding every chance at eye contact by continuously glancing away from a guiding face who merely wants to help one last time. The guilt tripping due to feeling like an unwelcome powerless stranger is also an aspect which never gets old in Taehyung's presence, though it manages to ebb away when remembering there is little of the once gentle carefree heart left after the corruption that has been decaying it year after year. Nonetheless, although it is an idiotic mirage, there is hope that some good remains to be contained in it somewhere deep below the surface, glimpses sworn to be regarded of this suspicion mostly when drifting off together as bodies slick with the sign of having given the craved physical love entangle to endure the night together.

When drowsy molten chocolate eyes contently close with a sigh after being tucked in or those very same irises acquire a shimmer by simply being near one another though they seem to be glistening more when drinking warm chocolate in the nearby small café where a straying delinquent first met the girl who would become his guardian angel despite already serving a platinum-haired lad who needed her just as much. Withal, Joon has mostly managed on his own since the very beginning of the relationship, hence is why most concern has been expressed towards the misjudged young man from a toxic killing apartment on the east side of town.

Shoes are barely taken off by the door of the loft when Tae, at last, breaks the lingering hush with a curious comment which holds a prelude to the twilight truth. 'Something's off.'

'What do you mean?' A splendid actress of an eyebrow rises in fake questioning, sight hopefully innocent enough to complete the façade of utter ignorance covering up the pained whirlwind within.

It takes effort to not flinch away from the palm engraved with healing yet regardlessly ugly self-defending wounds, mimic the instinctual happiness at being touched in a way the rapper barely does even when being back in the city. Notwithstanding, the pretend is noticed by the ever-observant dear soul, but a hint to drop the act and tell the truth lies in the sonorous voice inconspicuously begging to help an individual about to make the gravest of decisions instead of the other way around. 'What aren't you saying, Y/N?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' The avoidance of suggestively brushing lips coaxes out a confused gasp from the inherently sweet guy, who tries again and finds a repeating of the failure. 'Please, Tae, not tonight.'

The hands pressed against a warm chest in an endeavour to push it away are enveloped, the switching palm leaving behind a cold cheek. 'Y/N, talk to me. What's wrong? Did Namjoon do something?'

'No, he didn't do anything. But... he asked me to...' The bottom lip is caught by teeth, incredibly worried now that the onset of the confession has been given but the heart anchors down in guilt as fists clench the fabric of the loose shirt covering a cute tummy, unable to continue. Notwithstanding, what has been started needs to be finished because the world-famous rapper is right in regards that someday a rescue shall not be possible anymore and Taehyung needs to be aware of the fact. 'It's just that... one day I won't be here anymore, Tae. There will come a time Namjoon and I will start a family in a place away from here, away from his spotlights. You're not a burden, not at-'

'I am. I am a burden.' A step back further into the loft forming an ironically shared home introduces an icy distance, a few locks peeking out from beneath the hood of the onyx vest partially obscuring hurt earth-toned irises. 'I am to my father, my sister, you. I'm truly a waste of space, have known so all my life but you made me believe otherwise. I know what we agreed on, but- no, never mind. I should go.'

Retreat turns into advance, swift tearful steps making quick way to escape from a place thought to be a safe haven in a hellish world yet, fortunately so for an equally sorrowful girl clinging to the very same rules which were secretly broken without ever giving any indication as to it, a final brush of shoulders can be prevented. Strange how a single palm over a torn heart can alter the will of a person, make them change the course of action in an instant, thus rethink the consequences of the current one.

'Remove your hand.' Although clearly begging for freedom with determined sternness, there is also a useless plead to remain for the welcome atmosphere has been altered by the words conveying the wish of a third party. 'I don't belong here.'

Illusion.

'At least stay the night.' The command is heeded while making the hopefully positively answered request, the air in the apartment chilly on the skin despite the warm spring air blowing through the partially open window with lightly swishing pale curtains.

'How can you sound so innocent, asking me to stay when you're clearly better off without me, told me you'd follow Namjoon in the end and leave me behind?' A mirthless breathless laugh falls from wry lips pulled into an inwardly directed snarl, caramel locks softly swaying in self-loathing. 'I never stood a fucking chance anyway.'

Disillusionment.

'What-'

'I love you!' For a few seconds, the world comes to a halt at the shouted revelation of also having disregarded the principles of sentimental behaviour that set profitable friendship apart from meaningful love as desperate gazes are locked with one another in a cage of their own making. There is no way for both to escape, the key element clear in the renegade tear streaming down the tanned left cheek which has been affectionately caressed so many times in both sweetness and sin. 'I know we agreed to leave it at sex without meaning, but it's so goddamn hard for me to hide I've fallen for you. Even despite the fact you clearly think of him each time when you're with me. Yet, here we are, because I keep remembering that you see me too. Sometimes.'

'I always see you, Tae.' Either beneath the sheets while loneliness is fading or outside under casual circumstances, the golden-skinned handsome face now turned incredibly grim is all that fills the senses, even when loyal Reason wants to transform it into Namjoon's as the mouth has that very name tethering on lips and lavender risks turning into soap. Nonetheless, after slipping up temporarily there is a quick regaining of composure, returning to the reality in which strong arms dusted with soft dark hairs hold a fleeting soul.

Unrighteous as it is, it has always been him.

Always Taehyung.

'No, you don't.' Contemplation about the contested, seemingly lied, truth displayed in the almost breaking voice makes brows furrow in denial, familiar physical warmth leaning in closer as if to find an actual direct explanation for the attempt at covering up what is displayed uncensored. Withal, there is merely a farewell for the youth blinded by the hurt of words and actions. 'I guess this is it, then? You're breaking up with me.'

And the same type of agony lifts the blindfold promising a somewhat happy ending, reminding a forgetful mind of the commitment made on the beach to the famous rapper, the oath sworn to the inward ego before that.

It has to stop.

This is the end of the line.

The illusion has to evaporate into nothing.

'I- I have to.' Fingers mould into fists hanging uselessly at the sides, sight filled with the vision of feet clad in socks of which one pair will leave forevermore with a deep-rooted hatred for abandonment in a moment.

'Give me, us one more chance, Y/N. At least, this night, think of me.' A kind index finger under the chin lifting it upwards turns into a comforting hand supporting a conflicted breaking expression, the delinquent mirroring the pain while emphasizing the need for the contact that cannot be left behind. Even this small sliver, simply staring at one another, is too dear to part with because it is the tiniest force which can make grave lips give a hint of a smile.

Yet, a new self-made disillusioning distance is introduced by gently stepping away towards the door, the surface cooled by the spring air pressing against the spine. 'We can't-'

The characteristic onyx vest lands on the floor alongside the matching printed shirt and the alabaster one underneath, light and dark tones mingling on the floor to expose the smooth honey-toned skin of Taehyung's upper body. 'See me, only me. Just tonight.'

As if by an alluring though dangerous enchantment, the abyss is warily breached. However, every sense of hazard melts away by the protection offered by the renewal of the framing touch as croaky lips meet for a forceful howbeit tender kiss tasting of lavender and art sprayed in nighttime streets. 'Please, let it be just us. Please, I beg of you. Please.'

The digits of one of the loosened fists reach to intimate regions below, fold perfectly over the gradually becoming harder shape restrained by denim, while their counterparts come to rest peacefully on a cushiony middle. A careful squeeze coaxes out an adorable barely composed moan, interrupting the calm chasing of mouths curtly only to fall back into the hunt while pressing the hot desire-filled source again and again into what envelops it.

Craftily, the zipper of the constraining pants is made undone, one hand slipping past the brim of boxers to glide over feverish wanton longing, watching low baritone breathing become more laborious as vision grows visibly hazier and words come at a greater difficulty. 'Just like our- our- faster, please, y- yeah. Like our, ah, shit, first time.'

The occasion remembered at this instant was on an equally emotional night, the sensation of being alone in a world turned against an inherent loner bringing two straying wanderers who were and still are lost together with the promise to walk beside each other yet without entwining paths. Because, if that were to happen, the invoked chaos would become too much to handle as the heart would be caught between the reality of two very different universes. Regardless, it happened the morning after, safely wrapped in an unbreakable embrace under the roof of a genuine home as the summer sun highlighted the copper undertone in sleeping haphazard caramel locks likely dreaming of the desecration of the smooth hallway shoe closet.

Ever since, though, the façade of the agreed-upon rules had to be kept up, but tonight it can fall away for it is no longer needed after the finish has been reached. Afterwards, there is nothing.

No Taehyung to secretly kiss awake.

No whiskey and lavender sex.

No shared warm cocoas in the small café.

No genuine love.

Nothing.

Had Namjoon ever been loved at all?

Maybe.

On the day before the fame drove a once happy couple apart, before the paparazzi made a normal outing nothing short of impossible.

On the day before the quietness became extremely loud and incredibly close.

The grip below tightens, making the illegally creative man grunt in perverse satisfaction against lips parting with the question consenting to a final mistake for both parties. Which is introduced by influencing fancy with vocally recalled memories, uttering them in a blunt fashion that always helps in encouraging pure animalistic comforting behaviour. 'I love the way you fuck, Tae. I keep remembering our first time too, how good it felt to have you pound into me hard, kissed my neck. I want you to again, want it to be like our first time.' The movements below stop altogether, the teasing circling of the most sensitive part resulting in a sticky thumb, while frenzied irises find one another in unadulterated longing. 'Do you have a condom?'