The morning sun arrived reluctantly, casting a pale light through gauzy curtains. The Jeon estate sat in stillness, like it was holding its breath—each creak of wood, each shifting shadow in the corner, felt intentional.
Jungkook stood at the balcony outside his room, sipping coffee he hadn't sweetened. Below, the garden stretched in careful symmetry, yet something about its beauty was wrong.
Like a face wearing makeup to hide bruises.
He heard soft footsteps in the hallway. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Familiar.
Jimin.
Jungkook didn't turn until he heard his voice behind him.
"I used to have dreams on that balcony," Jimin said quietly. "When I first came here."
Jungkook glanced at him. "What kind of dreams?"
Jimin leaned against the doorway, sunlight catching the shimmer in his pink hair. His robe was cream-colored today, delicate and thin. He looked like he belonged to the house—like someone painted him there.
"I would stand here," he said softly, "and see myself sleeping below. In the garden. Covered in white flowers."
A pause.
"I think I died once. But then I woke up."
Jungkook's gaze didn't waver. "Dreams don't usually say things like that."
Jimin smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm not dreaming."
---
They walked together to the east corridor—rarely used, filled with covered furniture and dust-draped portraits. Jimin said he wanted to show Jungkook something strange. A part of the house even the maids avoided.
Jimin led him into a narrow room with high windows. The air smelled of linseed oil and old paper. An artist's studio—forgotten and silent.
"Whose room was this?" Jungkook asked.
"My husband's great aunt," Jimin said distantly. "She was a painter. But… she vanished one winter. No one looked for her."
He moved to the easel in the corner. A canvas stood covered by a white cloth. Jimin pulled it down slowly, and Jungkook stiffened.
It was a portrait.
Of Jimin.
Not recent—years old. But unmistakable. Same pink hair, same ethereal features. His expression was neutral, almost serene. Behind him, the background was blurred—but Jungkook noticed something chilling.
Jimin was standing in a garden.
Surrounded by white flowers.
Exactly like the dream.
"This was painted before I was born," Jimin whispered, voice hollow. "I found it in the attic two years ago."
Jungkook moved closer. The brushwork was meticulous. Realistic, but distant—as if the painter had been remembering a ghost, not a person.
Jimin's fingers trembled slightly as he touched the edge of the canvas.
"I showed this to my husband once," he said. "He said it was a coincidence. That I was just… imagining things."
"Do you believe that?"
Jimin didn't answer. His eyes remained on the portrait.
Jungkook studied his profile—delicate, quiet, unnaturally still.
Then he asked, "Do you remember your childhood, Jimin?"
A pause. Then a nod.
"Yes. I grew up near the sea. My mother had long black hair. She used to sing while cooking. And I had a dog. His name was Leo."
Jungkook tilted his head. "What breed?"
"…I don't know."
"Do you remember what your mother sang?"
"…No."
"What happened to her?"
Jimin blinked. His smile was slow, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I think she drowned."
"You think?"
Jimin looked away. "I was very young."
Jungkook stepped back, his mind racing.
There was a name for this: confabulation. The brain invents memories to patch the silence left by trauma. False memories become truth to the person living them.
But why would someone like Jimin—composed, elegant, graceful—carry fractured memories like broken glass inside silk?
Unless…
Unless those memories were given to him.
---
That night, Jungkook returned to his journal.
> Observation – Subject: Park Jimin
Hallucination? No. Repetition of specific dream imagery.
Memory inconsistency. Confabulation indicators.
Emotional detachment paired with lucid awareness.
Possible dissociative identity response? Or… indoctrination?
Why does the house feel like it's protecting him? Or keeping him?
He looked up at the mirror.
And froze.
Jimin stood in the hallway, unmoving, outside his door.
He wasn't knocking. Just staring.
His eyes were calm.
But in the reflection behind him… the portrait was visible again.
Except this time—the Jimin in the painting was smiling.
And Jungkook was sure he hadn't been, earlier that day.
---