The wind howled softly over the lonely hills as the carriage rattled through the old forest path. The sky hung heavy with a dull, pewter grey, as if the heavens themselves were weighed down by memory. Jeon Jungkook sat silently inside, a single gloved hand resting on the edge of the window, watching the tall pine trees blur into one another. His eyes—sharp, unreadable—held the calm precision of a man used to unraveling chaos, but today, there was a flicker of unease dancing behind them.
It had been nearly ten years since he last saw the Jeon family estate. Ten years since he had stepped into that sprawling mansion built during the colonial years, where walls whispered more than they echoed. He had not returned out of love. Not even out of duty. He returned out of curiosity.
And something else.
The estate rose slowly into view—its silhouette jagged and proud against the brooding sky. A relic of time, its red-tiled roof curved like a crown, and ivy wrapped around the stone like veins. The black iron gates creaked open without anyone appearing, as if the house had sensed his return.
The carriage stopped. Jungkook stepped out, his long coat flaring slightly in the wind. The scent of wet earth mixed with something faintly floral. Not fresh—faded. Almost ghostlike.
A young maid stood at the door, eyes downcast. She gave a quick bow, her voice barely a whisper.
"Master Jungkook. The house… has been waiting."
He raised a brow. "Has it?"
She didn't reply. Just stepped aside.
---
The entrance hall was exactly as he remembered—yet not quite. The grand chandelier still hung above, though some of its crystals were missing. Dust clung to corners. Curtains heavier than necessary draped the tall windows. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was watching.
He removed his gloves slowly, gaze scanning every detail. His shoes echoed on the marble floor like intrusions.
And then, he saw him.
At the far end of the corridor, partially lit by the dim afternoon light filtering through the stained glass, stood a figure. Small-framed. Barefoot. Dressed in ivory silk, soft and flowing like he belonged to a different time. Pink hair shimmered faintly with every step he took forward.
Park Jimin.
Jungkook almost didn't recognize him.
Not because Jimin had changed, but because he hadn't.
Jimin's eyes found his—wide, gentle, unreadable. A calm smile curved his lips, and he tilted his head slightly, as if observing Jungkook through a glass pane.
"You've returned," he said softly, voice as light as falling petals.
Jungkook gave a polite nod. "For a while."
There was a pause.
Jimin took a few more steps closer, bare feet soundless on the floor. "You're… Jungkook, right? My husband's brother?"
The way he said it—slow, uncertain—made Jungkook narrow his eyes.
"Yes."
Jimin's smile stayed, but something in it wavered. He glanced away, fingers twitching. "I… thought I remembered. But it's been long."
"Not that long," Jungkook said gently, watching him.
Jimin looked back, his eyes clear and confused all at once. "Time feels… different here."
---
They walked through the west hallway. The paintings along the walls were old portraits—faded, cracked with age. Jimin glanced at one but did not linger.
"This wing is yours now," he said. "It's quieter here. The other servants won't disturb you."
Jungkook noticed how Jimin avoided his reflection in the windowpane. Not a glance.
"Where's my brother?" Jungkook asked casually.
"Business in the city. He left three weeks ago." Jimin's tone was even. "He… doesn't visit often."
"I see."
He wanted to ask more. About the estate. The family. The strange weight in the air. But Jimin had already turned to leave.
"I'll have your tea brought up," he said without looking back. "If you need anything, just call for me."
"Why you?"
Jimin paused at the end of the hall, hand on the carved wooden railing. "Because I stay awake longer than the others."
He smiled again—softly, distantly—and disappeared around the corner.
---
That night, Jungkook couldn't sleep.
Something about Jimin's presence lingered—like perfume caught in curtains. He wasn't sure if it was unease or fascination.
He sat at the writing desk by the window, opening a fresh leather journal he'd brought with him. The candlelight flickered gently beside him, casting slow shadows.
> Observation – Subject: Park Jimin
Appears emotionally distant. Language polite, controlled.
Shows signs of memory disconnection.
Unusual affect. Too calm.
May be trauma-related.
Does he remember me, or only thinks he should?
Is he pretending? Or is he truly somewhere else, inside?
Jungkook paused, tapping his pen against the paper.
Something about Jimin's smile—it was real, but practiced.
Like someone trained to smile exactly when needed.
He looked out the window. In the distance, across the garden path, he saw a pale figure moving near the trees.
Barefoot.
Jungkook did not move. He only watched.
And that's when he realized—
Jimin never once blinked in the entire conversation.
---