Morning filtered into the mansion slowly, slipping through thick drapes and pooling in golden patches across the floor. The walls, still and breathless, seemed to listen more than they echoed.
Jeon Jungkook stood at the edge of the long hallway, gazing at the grand mirror at its end. The mirror had once belonged to his great-grandmother—ornate, full-length, framed in black walnut carved with roses and flames. A piece of vanity, perhaps. Or a window to something unseen.
He reached out and dusted its surface gently with his sleeve. The glass was cold beneath his fingertips.
Behind him, quiet footsteps approached.
Jimin.
He wore a soft beige robe, sleeves too long, his pink hair slightly curled from sleep. The morning light kissed his features, turning his skin almost translucent. He looked like he belonged to a dream that never ended.
"You're up early," he said, voice still caught between night and morning.
Jungkook turned slowly. "I don't sleep well in unfamiliar places."
Jimin nodded. "This house does that. It doesn't like strangers."
"Yet it kept you."
A pause.
Jimin gave a faint smile. "Maybe it doesn't see me as a stranger anymore."
He moved past Jungkook toward the mirror, standing before it with graceful stillness. His reflection stared back at him—but his eyes didn't meet his own.
"You never look at yourself," Jungkook said quietly.
Jimin blinked. "I do."
"No. You glance at the idea of yourself. Not the face."
Silence stretched between them like thread.
Jungkook stepped forward. "Can I try something with you?"
Jimin looked curious, not alarmed. "Try what?"
"A simple test. Nothing serious."
"…Okay."
---
Jungkook led him to the drawing room, where the fireplace was unlit, and the chandelier hung low. He pulled a standing mirror from the corner and placed it in front of the large window. The light from outside hit it just right—clear but soft.
He pulled two chairs. "Sit."
Jimin obeyed, folding his hands in his lap. The way he sat—quiet, careful—reminded Jungkook of someone rehearsed.
"Look into the mirror," Jungkook instructed. "But not at yourself. Look at me."
Jimin met his gaze in the reflection.
Jungkook studied him for a moment. "Now… when I say a word, just say the first thing that comes to your mind."
Jimin nodded faintly.
"Home."
"Curtains."
"Brother."
"…Absent."
"Marriage."
"Room."
"Love."
A pause. Then: "Cold."
Jungkook's pen didn't move, but he made a mental note of everything.
"Do you feel like you've changed since moving here?"
Jimin blinked. "I don't know what I was before."
"That's not memory loss," Jungkook said, watching carefully. "It's identity fragmentation."
Jimin tilted his head slightly. "Big words."
"It just means… part of you might be hiding from the other part."
Jimin smiled, soft but unreadable. "Maybe that's a good thing."
---
Later that evening, Jungkook wandered through the west library. Rows of books lined the towering shelves, most untouched for years. He trailed his fingers along the spines until something caught his eye.
A small, leather-bound diary.
He pulled it free. No title. Just a name, pressed faintly in gold.
J.M.
He hesitated—then opened it.
Most pages were blank. But near the middle, he found a short entry written in soft, elegant script.
> "Sometimes, I hear someone whispering behind me. But when I turn, the hallway is empty."
"Sometimes, I think I'm someone else, pretending to be Jimin."
"But who is he, really?"
Jungkook shut the book carefully, heart quiet but alert.
---
That night, sleep didn't come again.
From his window, he watched the garden bathed in silver moonlight.
And there—once again—stood Jimin.
Barefoot.
Spinning slowly in the middle of the overgrown path.
He was humming a lullaby. One that didn't belong to this place. Foreign. Haunting.
And even from this distance… Jungkook could see it clearly—
Jimin's reflection in the glass door wasn't moving at all.
---