Chapter 4: Glass Hearts

Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains like guilt—soft, persistent, impossible to ignore.

Taehyung lay still in the bed Jungkook had claimed for him, staring at the ornate ceiling. It was painted with cherubs and clouds, a mockery of innocence. He counted the cracks in the plaster, not because he cared, but because control was found in the smallest of things.

Today felt different. Like the calm before a storm that hadn’t decided which way to break.

When he descended for breakfast, Jungkook was already seated, dressed in a stark black suit. There was blood on his cuff. He didn’t bother to hide it.

“Late night?” Taehyung asked, pouring himself tea.

“An early morning,” Jungkook replied without looking up. “We lost two men. Min's dogs are getting bold.”

Taehyung stirred his tea slowly. “Do you want sympathy?”

“I want silence. Or strategy.”

He got neither. Instead, Taehyung asked, “If they came for me, would you protect me?”

Jungkook met his gaze, unreadable. “No one touches what’s mine.”

Taehyung set down the spoon. “You still think I’m a thing.”

“I think you’re a weapon I haven't decided how to use.”

The words hit harder than intended. But Taehyung didn’t flinch.

“Be careful,” he said softly. “Weapons don’t like being sheathed too long. They cut.”

That afternoon, Taehyung slipped out of the main house under the pretense of exploring. No one stopped him. The guards had grown used to his walks, mistaking repetition for trust. He wandered to the eastern wing—rarely used and dimly lit.

There, in an old study, he found papers. Maps. Financial ledgers. And something far more dangerous—a list of Min’s allies, with Jungkook’s annotations scrawled in the margins.

He ran his fingers over the ink. Jungkook wasn’t just preparing for war. He was preparing for something else. A purge.

He pocketed a photo that had slipped between the pages. It was of a young boy—himself, smiling beside Jungkook on a summer dock. Before blood and empire. Before everything burned.

The photo was a weapon, too.

Later, Jungkook found him in the bath, surrounded by rose-scented steam. He sat on the edge, watching.

“You were in the eastern wing.”

Taehyung didn’t open his eyes. “And?”

“That area’s off-limits.”

“You didn’t lock it.”

Jungkook’s voice was low. “You’re pushing me, Tae.”

Taehyung opened his eyes now. Met his gaze. “Because you need to be pushed. You’re stuck in a cage you built yourself.”

Silence stretched.

Then Jungkook said, “Do you remember the lake house? The summer of the blue fireflies?”

Taehyung’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“You said you’d always stay, as long as I kept the fireflies alive.”

“You stopped catching them.”

“No,” Jungkook whispered. “You stopped believing I could.”

They stared at each other. Water lapped gently against porcelain. The air was heavy with roses and regret.

That night, the estate was attacked.

An explosion in the north gardens. Gunfire along the perimeter.

Taehyung was thrown from sleep by the sound of chaos.

He ran—not away, but toward the sound. Toward Jungkook.

He found him in the war room, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, barking orders, rage incarnate.

When their eyes met, something fractured.

“You should be hiding,” Jungkook snapped.

“I told you—I don’t run.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’d rather die beside you than live like this.”

For a moment, Jungkook looked at him like a man drowning—grateful, furious, desperate.

Then he kissed him.

Hard. Violent. Messy.

Not out of love.

But out of need.

Taehyung didn’t fight it. Didn’t pull away. He accepted the chaos, wrapped his arms around it, and bit down until it bled.

When they pulled apart, breathless, Jungkook said, “If you betray me, I’ll destroy you.”

And Taehyung whispered, “If you don’t, I might destroy myself.”

Outside, the fire burned.

Inside, two glass hearts cracked in sync—waiting to see who would shatter first.

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