His to Find, His to Own

They say grief has a voice.
But his? It was silence.

The mansion lay still-clocks unwound, windows shut, air unmoving. Dust touched everything but her photograph.

Every night, Taehyung sat before it, upright and hollow. Her face-Y/n-was the only breath left in his world.

She was gone.
And yet, she was everywhere.
In the wind without source, in flickers of light where shadows had no right,
In the locket he held-the one she once wore, the one she left behind.

They said he was mad.
But Taehyung wasn't a fool. He believed. That's all.

Sometimes, he heard her voice.
Sometimes, he spoke to her, in whispers meant for the dead.

"You told me to live... but how do I breathe when every breath burns your name?"

Nothing else mattered. Not his empire. Not the voices that called him Mr. V.
Not even time.

He waited.
For her. For a sign.
Because his love didn't die with her. It lived like he did-barely.

"If her shadow waits for me in another life...
wouldn't I lay down this breath without a cry?"

And so, he sat.
Still. Silent. Waiting.
Upright. The locket in his hand.
In his love story.
In his haunting.
In his vow-
To find her.
To own her.
Again.