The Fire Life: The Altar Burns

“You always said love was sacred.

And then you laid me across a battlefield.”

The kiss broke like thunder cracking the spine of silence.

Taehyung tasted of crushed poppies and dust, like something buried long ago and half-remembered. Like sorrow, if sorrow wore silk. His lips moved slowly at first, then not at all. He let Jungkook kiss him like it was a confession, like it was a prayer, like it was forgiveness before the crime had even been committed.

And maybe it was.

Because he didn’t kiss him back.

Not yet.

He let Jungkook cup his face with bloodied hands. Let him breathe into his mouth like it might undo something. Let him shudder.

Then, softly, finally,

Taehyung stepped forward.

Their hips met. Their chests aligned. His mouth parted in surrender, not desperation. Not need. Just quiet inevitability.

This had happened before. In other corridors. Other ruins. Other lives.

Jungkook didn’t remember that, but his body did.

When Taehyung finally touched him, just the pads of his fingers brushing Jungkook’s ribs, his knees nearly gave out.

Taehyung smiled, faintly.

“You’re always softer than they think,” he whispered.

“And you’re always colder than you look,” Jungkook answered, voice raw.

That made Taehyung laugh. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just... tired.

He leaned in, their foreheads touching.

“Do you remember,” he said, “what this altar was once for?”

Jungkook glanced toward the slab of ancient stone behind them. It gleamed faintly under the flickering oil lamps. He shook his head.

“Offerings,” Taehyung murmured. “To the god of silence.”

“That’s a strange god.”

“That’s a necessary god.”

Then, without asking, Taehyung walked backward, slowly, until the backs of his knees hit the stone. He lifted himself onto the altar like it meant nothing, like he’d done it before, like his body remembered something too.

He leaned back on his hands. Watched Jungkook with firelight eyes.

“You always said you wanted to worship me,” he said, voice low.

Jungkook’s mouth went dry.

“Then why do I always end up killing you?” he asked.

Taehyung tilted his head. “Because you never loved me enough to choose me over your crown.”

“I don’t have a crown.”

“Not in this life. But in that one?” His eyes flickered toward the shadowed hall. “You’re still a prince. And there’s still a war outside.”

Jungkook took a step closer.

The heat in the room pressed closer too. The oil lamps hissed faintly. Outside the stone walls, the wind had shifted. There was no music, no birdsong. Just the long, eerie howl of something ancient turning in its grave.

Taehyung laid back slowly, his hair spilling like ink across the altar.

“Lie with me,” he said. Not begging. Not teasing. Just asking.

Jungkook obeyed.

He climbed up beside him, slow and reverent. Their shoulders touched. Their arms. Taehyung turned his face toward him.

“I’ll die tonight,” he said softly.

Jungkook closed his eyes.

Taehyung’s hand found his.

They lay like that for a long moment. Two bodies carved from old stories, waiting for the fire to come.

Then: a distant boom.

Drums?

No. Not drums. Stone collapsing. War entering the palace.

Taehyung didn’t flinch.