Silent Vows

Part 45

The door creaked open, slow and reluctant, as he stepped inside.

The soft thud of his boots echoed faintly, each footfall deliberate; measured like a countdown.

The dim light barely touched his figure, but it was enough to catch the glint in his eyes; cold, impenetrable.

He halted by the aged table at the room’s heart, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt with a quiet grace, revealing the ink laced across his arm, veins rising beneath skin like rivers carved in stone.

With a slow breath, he reached for the bottle, amber whiskey glinting under the muted glow.

He poured a glass, then lowered himself into the chair opposite Jimin, wordless.

His fingers drifted over the edge of the chessboard before moving a single pawn forward.

The silence between them was thick, reverent, the only sound now the distant tick of a clock counting something heavier than time.

Jimin answered with his move. The game began to unfold; not with urgency, but with solemn rhythm.

Each piece moved with intent. A black knight advanced, slow and sure, then his hand retreated to the armrest; still, patient.

It wasn’t just a game. It was ritual. A strange, steady calm in the middle of chaos, like a man sharpening his blade before the storm could speak.

Jimin kept stealing glances, subtle, fleeting; watching the strange stillness Jungkook wore like second skin.

The game went on, piece by piece, every move deliberate, like neither of them was in any hurry to reach the end… and yet somehow, they were already there.

Jungkook’s fingers hovered midair, unmoving for a breath too long, then lowered, placing the final piece.

It landed with a soft knock, almost too gentle for what it meant. A move not just made, but delivered.

Like the closing of a chapter. Like the weight of a decision that couldn’t be undone.

Jimin leaned back slightly, eyes still on the board, lips parting with a quiet breath.

There were no words. No smirk of victory.

Jungkook tilted his head, gaze lingering on the board now tilted unmistakably in his favor.

One lone piece trapped in the corner, nowhere left to run.

The silence deepened, pressing in around them.

The air was thick; cloaked in the faint, metallic scent of blood and the cold rattle of chains in the background, echoing like a forgotten warning.

Then Jungkook looked up; once. His eyes met Jimin’s. Calm. Cold. Knowing.

He rose slowly, the scrape of the chair barely audible, his eyes now tracing the shadows beyond the game, the far end of the room, where the tied figures sat, half-lost in darkness.

One step.
Then another.

Each one slow, and yet every one felt heavier than the last.

Like something was unraveling with every movement. Like the calm was about to break.

He stopped just short.

And then, without a word, the faintest curve touched his lips, a smirk, small but sharp.

A breath trembled loose as the cloth slipped from one of the figures’ mouth; breath shaking, heart pounding loud enough to hear.

Because Jungkook was standing right in front of him.