Oh my god, Taehyung. Finally, you're free! Can you believe it?! I'm so happy for you." Jimin beamed, dancing around his room. Why? Because Taehyung was finally free today. He’d been released. Taehyung smiled faintly, watching Jimin celebrate. It felt… strange. He didn’t know *why* he felt strange. He should be celebrating. One side of him was relieved, the fear and suffocating sense of being watched finally gone. He felt… lighter. But the other side… the other side was trapped in a swirling, cold dread.
Was it really over? Had they really let him go? Or was this a test, a cruel game? He didn't know. He didn’t know what to think, only that he *should* be thinking something. All he knew was that he was officially, legally, free.
Jimin broke him from his trance. “Why aren’t you celebrating, Tae? Are you not happy?”
Taehyung smiled, a small, hesitant curve of his lips. How could he explain it? It wasn’t simple. Not at all. He just… didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to break Jimin's excitement. "Yes, Chim. I am happy."
Jimin’s face lit up instantly, and he dragged Taehyung into a clumsy, joyful dance. Taehyung allowed himself to be pulled along, a numb sort of smile on his face. He let Jimin's energy fill the void where his own should be.
---
Elsewhere, in a darkened room, someone wasn't celebrating. Someone was unraveling. He wasn't happy. He wasn't anything *near* happy. His men watched him in terror as he unleashed his fury. A scream, followed by a gunshot, echoed through the space. They all flinched, watching their cold, brutal boss fixate on a single photograph. He was destroying everything around him, smashing furniture, ripping fabric, shattering glass. Everything looked like dust. Blood ran down his hands, but he didn't even seem to notice, his gaze locked on the image. He kept muttering one word: "Sweetheart."
The destruction continued, a violent, spiraling vortex of rage. Finally, a woman’s voice cut through the chaos. “Jungkook, stop!”
He turned, eyes blazing with a madness that made her shiver. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice a low, guttural growl: “Haven’t even started.” He stared at her, eyes full of rage and pain. The picture was still in his hand, and his grip was tight enough to crush the glass.