Bullet's of Devotion The Silence You Left Behind

The body was gone.

The chair remained stained, still. Blood crusted on the floor like dried paint. The warehouse air reeked of metal, memory, and a silence too thick to breathe.

Taehyung hadn’t spoken in two days.

He didn’t need to.

His men moved like ghosts around him, too afraid to ask what had happened. He ruled with an iron gaze, one that had grown colder since that night. But they knew.

In fact, Everyone knew.

The King killed his lover.

At the Office

Taehyung sat behind his desk, untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. His fingers played with Jungkook’s ring — the one he used to wear on his pinky like a silent oath.

He twirled it between his fingers like it meant nothing. But his eyes… told another story.

Park Seojoon

You don’t look victorious.

Seojoon said from across the room.

Taehyung didn’t look up.

Kim Taehyung

Victory is overrated.

Seojun raised an eyebrow.

Park Seojoon

You’ve been off. Ever since—

Kim Taehyung

Finish that sentence, and I’ll feed you your own tongue

Taehyung muttered, voice like frost.

Seojoon stayed quiet.

Taehyung finally picked up the whiskey and took a long, bitter sip. The burn didn’t distract him. Nothing did.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw bloodied lips curled into a smile. He heard laughter, broken and mocking. He heard,

Jeon Jungkook

Pull the trigger.

And then he heard nothing.

The Night of the Betrayal (Flashback)

Taehyung stood in the shadows, watching Jungkook sleep. His chest rose and fell gently, his tattooed fingers curled near his mouth.

He looked peaceful. Soft. Almost… innocent.

Taehyung had reached out that night, fingertips brushing across Jungkook’s cheek.

He didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t want to know.

But his heart had clenched like it knew what would come.

Kim Taehyung

Don’t fall for him

He had told himself.

Kim Taehyung

This isn’t love. It’s strategy.

So why the hell did his hand tremble on the trigger??

Present – Taehyung’s Bedroom

He hadn’t slept since that night.

Every time he lay down, he felt the empty space Jungkook used to fill. The warmth was gone. The scent was gone. But the presence? Still there. Lurking.

He opened the drawer beside the bed. Inside, a bullet.

The first one.

He kept it.

Stained with dried blood. Still warm in memory.

He picked it up, stared at it like it might answer the questions clawing at him.

Was it worth it?

He asked himself.

No answer. Just the soft throb of regret tightening in his chest.

Midnight. He returned to the scene.

The room hadn’t changed. No one had dared touch it.

He walked to the chair where Jungkook had died. Stared at the floor. The stain was darker now. Older. But it still bled red in his mind.

He sat in the same chair. Leaned back. Lit a cigarette.