Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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Not every ship you build together is meant to reach the shore.
Chapter 25: Order
Taehyung didn’t so much as glance back at Jungkook’s villa. His pride wouldn’t allow him to. He just walked, aimless and stubborn, letting his feet drag him through the cold night air until the familiar silhouette of his old burnt-down apartment came into view.
For a long moment, he stood frozen at the edge of the ruined building, staring at the charred remains of what had once been his home. The walls, blackened and skeletal, looked more like gravestones than shelter. The smell of ash seemed to linger in the air, even after all this time, faint but sharp enough to sting his memory. And in that moment, a realization washed over him like a cruel tide—he was completely, utterly alone.
He had pushed away the one person who could have helped him. The only person stubborn enough to stand by him, no matter how much it hurt. He had thrown it all aside, not because Jungkook was wrong, but because Taehyung had been too angry, too wounded, too desperate to keep a grip on his pride. And now that pride felt like an iron weight dragging him down.
A humorless laugh slipped past his lips. Pathetic, he thought. Who would have imagined things between him and Jungkook would unravel like this? Not with a storm, not with a fight worth remembering—but with words thrown like daggers and silence sharper than any blade.
Darkness cloaked the street. No lamps lit this corner of the neighborhood, and the apartment’s hollow frame cast long, crooked shadows. He could barely make out the broken windows, the jagged lines of the collapsed roof. He was about to step closer when the sudden growl of an engine split the quiet.
Startled, Taehyung instinctively moved back, pressing himself against the side of a crumbling fence. Headlights cut across the ruins, blinding for a moment, before a van rolled to a stop directly in front of the burnt apartment. His pulse jumped. Something about the vehicle—the way it idled there, silent and heavy—made his instincts scream. Without a second thought, he ducked down, slipping into the shadows of a neighboring yard. He crouched low behind the overgrown bushes, barely daring to breathe.
The van doors slammed open.
Four men climbed out, each dressed head to toe in black—hoods up, masks covering their faces, gloves pulled tight. The anonymity of their clothing alone was enough to raise every alarm in Taehyung’s head. They moved with the precision of men who were used to this kind of work, quick and ruthless.
“Search everything,” one of them barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
Taehyung’s heart pounded as the men stormed into his old apartment. He leaned forward, peeking through the gaps in the broken fence, and his breath caught. He could see them clearly—tearing through the ruins as if the place still held secrets.
They overturned the charred furniture, ripped up broken floorboards, and even pried apart the remaining tiles. Dust and ash clouded the air, illuminated by their flashlights as they swept every corner with ruthless determination.
