Chapter 1 – The Last Paper

The courtroom smelled faintly of old wood and coffee. The winter sunlight filtered through tall windows, spilling across the polished table like a quiet spotlight on the final act of a play.

Taehyung sat at one end, his posture perfectly straight, his expression unreadable. His suit was cream-colored, soft against his honey skin — the exact shade Jungkook remembered tracing with his fingertips on quieter nights.

He ignored the memory.

On the table before them lay a neat stack of papers, each page stamped and waiting. The very last sheet sat on top, its crisp corner curling slightly as if even it wanted to be free from this room.

Taehyung’s pen hovered above the bottom line. His signature at the top was flawless — steady, elegant — the way Taehyung did everything. But now, his hand lingered. Almost hesitating.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. His black suit clung to him like second skin, the tie knotted just so. He looked every inch the man who had already moved on.

“You look happy,” Taehyung said at last, voice calm, eyes still on the paper.

Jungkook smirked, the curve of his lips sharp. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m free.”

Taehyung’s pen twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Free from a husband who never cheated?”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Jungkook. He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “Never cheated? You think you’re that innocent?” He tilted his head, eyes darkening just enough to make it dangerous. “Please. I cheated more than you.”

The pen stopped. Taehyung finally raised his gaze, meeting Jungkook’s with a look that could have frozen glass. “More than me?” His lips curved into a humorless smile. “That’s cute. I cheated twice as much as you ever could.”

From the side, their lawyer — a middle-aged man who had clearly seen more than his share of ugly endings — cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, this is a divorce proceeding, not a—”

“It’s always been a competition,” Jungkook interrupted smoothly, his eyes never leaving Taehyung’s.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them grew heavy, thick with the ghosts of old fights and older kisses.

Flashback — Three Years Ago

It had been raining that night. Jungkook had shown up at Taehyung’s tiny apartment door, soaked to the bone, hair dripping into his eyes. He’d looked ridiculous, standing there with a bouquet of crushed flowers in one hand and an apology he could barely speak.

Taehyung had laughed, pulling him inside, shoving a towel into his hands. “You look like a stray dog,” he’d said.

Jungkook had kissed him before he could say more. And that had been the start — or maybe the mistake — of a marriage that burned too fast.

Back in the courtroom, Taehyung broke the stare first. Without another word, he signed the paper with one clean stroke, the sound of pen against paper louder than it should have been.

He slid the document across the table, the paper whispering as it passed from one set of hands to another.

The lawyer gathered the pages with brisk efficiency. “That’s it, then. You’re both free to go.”

Taehyung stood, adjusting his coat with deliberate calm. He didn’t spare Jungkook a glance as he turned toward the door. His polished shoes clicked softly against the floor, each step carrying him farther from the man who had once been everything.

But as he reached the doorway, his chest ached — sharp, quick — in a way it shouldn’t have.

He told himself it was relief.

Jungkook watched him leave.

The door closed behind Taehyung with a muted thud, but the echo stayed in Jungkook’s head. He leaned back again, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

If Taehyung wanted a game, fine. He’d play.

Because deep down, Jungkook knew one thing — the story between them wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And if he was being honest, he didn’t want it to be.

Outside, the winter air bit against Taehyung’s skin.

He pulled his coat tighter, stepping into the street. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky, melting instantly when they touched the warmth of his hair. His phone buzzed in his pocket — a reminder for a doctor’s appointment later that week.

He deleted the notification without opening it.

Some things… some truths… weren’t ready to be spoken.

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