ROSE | K.SJ

IV. IN MY HEAD

"Sometimes, our happiness is captured."

— — —

C H A P T E R F O U R

WHEN HE OPENED HIS EYES, SEOKJIN SAW HIMSELF.

He found himself surrounded by a kaleidoscope of gold and silver, of crystal and flame, of lush carpet and luminous frames around the mirrors that reflected his gray eyes and black hair plastered against dewy skin. With a full spin on his heel, he saw that he was surrounded by his reflection; a room full of mirrors, his own shaking form following his eyes no matter where they landed.

Like the mist that rose from the ground in the mornings, his mind was clouded. He could only process one thought at a time as they ran through his mind.

The first thought: "It's unbearably cold."

The second: "Have I been here before?"

He took a step closer to the mirror directly before him, heart pumping against his chest. He leaned closer; so close that his breath fogged the glass with each exhale.

As if it were made of glass, his skin had begun to crack, just below his eye. The fissure branched off from one larger crack into three smaller ones. They trailed down his cheek like rivers, twisting and turning, hollow and cold.

He lifted his hand, fingertips a breath away from grazing the break in his skin, but he stopped himself.

This had happened before, hadn't it?

"Mr. Kim."

His eyes left his own reflection and settled on the one of a man that stood just beyond. The figure was familiar to him, yet as his eyes traced violet locks of hair and shining golden eyes, he found it difficult to recall where he had seen him before.

"Mr. Kim," the voice repeated, calm, yet insistent. "Can you hear me?"

Seokjin narrowed his eyes, his breaths coming out hot and fast, contrasting with the frosty bite that enveloped the room.

"Hello?" The man spoke again, taking a careful step forward. Seokjin stood up straight, the voice striking a chord in his memory.

Hoseok, the mysterious barista from The Grind.

The dreams—nightmares, in the room of mirrors.

The sting of a cut on his finger.

The cracked scar beneath his eye.

All of it—from the sweat that made his hair stick to his skin to the ornate carpet beneath his bare feet. He had seen it all before.

"Why am I here?" He asked, pressing his hand flat against the mirror, damp with condensation from his breath.

Hoseok smiled softly, glancing down at his shoes. "Why do you think?"

"If I knew the answer, do you think I'd be asking you?"

"Mr. Kim. If we go through life simply asking for all the answers and expecting to have them handed to us on a silver platter, we miss the opportunity to learn. Wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I wouldn't," Seokjin said, fingers curling into a fist against the glass. "And could you please stop calling me Mr. Kim?"

Hoseok grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "So you're saying we're on a first name basis?"

"We're not on any basis," Seokjin retaliated. "It's just annoying."

"Be careful who you treat coldly, Seokjin," Hoseok said as his expression grew dim. "You never know who you'll have to turn to on your darkest days."