The forest grew denser the deeper they drove, tall trees leaning into the road as if whispering secrets. Fog drifted low along the ground, clinging to the wheels of the black car like smoke from an unseen fire. Jungkook leaned forward slightly as he drove, brows furrowed, following the GPS signal as it led them off the paved highway and into the narrowing wilderness road.

 Minji sat beside him, silent, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her eyes remained locked to the window, watching the scenery blur past, her expression unreadable.

They hadn’t spoken in nearly twenty minutes.

“We’re almost there,” Jungkook said finally, his voice quiet, cautious.

She didn’t reply.

Jungkook sighed, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the steering wheel. “I thought… this place might be good for us. Quiet. Isolated. Time to talk. Time for me to really be present.”

“It’s not just for me, Minji.”

“It never is.”

“You didn’t say it was this remote, Jungkook,” Minji muttered, her arms crossed tightly as the car curved around yet another bend in the thick jungle road.

“I told you it was secluded,” Jungkook replied, keeping his eyes on the overgrown path ahead. “That was the point.”

“Secluded is a cottage by a lake. This is... cursed forest energy.”

“You said you wanted peace.”

“I said I wanted your time. Not ghosts and mosquitoes.”

Jungkook sighed, the frustration bubbling quietly inside him. “I cleared my schedule. No deadlines for the next three weeks. I thought this could help us.”

Minji scoffed. “You cleared it for your writer’s block. I’m just tagging along as your emotional support prop.”

“That’s not fair, Minji.”

“You haven’t even touched me in weeks. And now you think dragging me to some horror movie set will fix it?”

Before Jungkook could reply, the iron gate came into view—rusted, half-swallowed by vines. The mansion loomed beyond it, tall and hauntingly silent, framed by overgrown trees and a bruised sky.

“Here we are,” he said quietly.

Minji leaned forward, frowning. “That’s the place?”

“Yeah.”

“Why does it look like it eats couples for breakfast?”

Jungkook gave her a sideways glance. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

“Just being honest.”

The gate creaked loudly as it opened, and they drove through. The mansion stood as though time had forgotten it—its stone walls weathered, windows blank, its silence heavy.

“This place is ancient,” Minji whispered as they stepped out of the car.

“It’s got character,” Jungkook offered, grabbing their bags from the trunk.

“It’s got mold,” she snapped.

Inside, the air was colder. Each step echoed across dusty floorboards and empty halls. The chandelier above trembled faintly, as if disturbed by their arrival.

“This is… a lot,” Minji muttered, glancing up at the cracked ceiling.

“I like it,” Jungkook said, brushing his fingers over the banister. “It’s quiet.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s inspiring.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Jungkook murmured.

They moved from room to room, silence occasionally broken by creaking wood or distant bird calls. The house was large, filled with forgotten furniture and relics of lives long gone.

“Look at this library,” Jungkook said, eyes lighting up as he entered a room lined with dusty shelves. “It’s perfect.”

“For you, maybe,” Minji muttered. “I just want a clean bed and decent lighting.”

“There’s charm in the imperfections.”

“There’s mold in the corners.”

That made him laugh—just briefly—but Minji didn’t smile.

 As night fell,

they shared a quiet meal in the kitchen, lit by a few dim bulbs. Neither spoke much. The silence now wasn’t peaceful—it was sharp, full of everything they weren’t saying.

Later, in the bedroom, Jungkook turned to her, hesitant.

“Minji.”

She didn’t respond.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Let me hold you tonight.”

She turned her back. “I’m tired.”

“Minji, please—”

“I said I’m tired,” she snapped. “Not in the mood for playing perfect couple in a haunted house.”

Jungkook sat up, frustrated. “This was supposed to help us reconnect.”

“Maybe you should’ve tried reconnecting before things broke,” she hissed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stared at him, cold. “You’re always chasing something—your next book, your next idea. I’m just here, waiting. Always waiting. And I don’t want to anymore.”

Silence.

He stood abruptly, chest tight. “Then don’t.”

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The couch creaked under his restless body. Moonlight bled through the broken blinds, casting pale streaks across the floor. The fire had died hours ago, but the cold in the room felt unnatural—like it came from inside the walls.

Jungkook pressed a cushion over his face, trying to shut it all out.

The silence.

The ache.

Her voice still ringing in his ears—

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Eventually, sleep took him. Not gently. Not kindly.

In his dream

Jungkook stood in a hallway he didn’t recognize.

The wallpaper was elegant, cream and gold. Chandeliers shimmered. Laughter—light, innocent—echoed down the corridor. A child’s laughter.

He followed the sound.

A glimpse of a boy, maybe in his teens, slipping into a sun-drenched room. White shirt. Loose curls. Barefoot.

Something in Jungkook’s chest tightened.

He stepped into the same room—an old-fashioned dining room, bright and warm. The boy sat at the table, humming softly, arranging wildflowers in a vase. He didn’t look up.

Then—

A shadow moved behind him.

Two figures entered the room. A man and a woman. Their faces were blurred, but their voices were sharp. Cold. Angry.

“You think this is normal?” the man growled.

“You’re ungrateful. After everything—” the woman spat.

The boy stood, trembling, vase still in his hands.

“You’re not our son!” someone screamed.

Glass shattered. The vase hit the floor. Blood dripped.

Jungkook reached out. “Wait—!”

But his voice made no sound.

He watched helplessly as the boy fell—like he’d been struck down by something heavier than hands. His eyes flickered with confusion... betrayal... then nothing at all.

The room turned gray. The warmth drained out.

The scene blurred.

A shovel.

Dirt being thrown.

The base of a tree.

A hand sticking out of the earth.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

And then, in the silence—

A voice, soft and broken, whispered behind Jungkook:

“Why did they stop loving me?”

He turned around—but no one was there.

Only cold air.

Only sorrow.

Only silence

Jungkook jolted awake, heart hammering, breath shallow.

The house was still.

But something was watching him.

He could feel it.

The morning sun slipped lazily through the trees, casting long, golden shadows across the overgrown lawn. Birds chirped in the distance, but the mansion still felt heavy, like it hadn’t fully woken up yet.

Jungkook rubbed his face with tired hands, the weight of the dream clinging to his skin like sweat. He hadn't slept much after that. Every creak in the walls, every shifting shadow, had kept him on edge. His wife was still upstairs—he didn’t know if she had come to bed, or just stayed locked in that cold, silent room.

The doorbell rang.

Jungkook flinched.

Who the hell…?

The mansion was too deep in the woods for visitors.

He approached the door slowly, fingers wrapping cautiously around the antique brass handle. It creaked open.

A young man stood on the porch.

He looked... out of place. Dressed in plain clothes—neat, but not modern. Faded linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, dark trousers, soft curls framing his delicate face. There was something old-fashioned in the way he stood, hands behind his back, gaze lowered slightly.

Jungkook blinked.

The dream. The boy.

Not quite the same—but something in the eyes...

The stranger looked up, startled too, like he hadn’t expected to see anyone.

“Oh,” the young man said. “I didn’t know there were... guests.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Can I help you?”

The man hesitated, then smiled—gentle, polite, practiced.

“I was told the mansion needed staff again. Housekeeping. I worked here before... long ago.”

Jungkook frowned. “By who?”

No one had called for help. Not him. Not his wife.

“I just felt... I should return,” the man replied softly. “Is that alright?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away.

There was something odd about the way he spoke. Calm, like he belonged here more than Jungkook did. Like he’d never left.

But he couldn’t explain why he felt relief seeing him there.

Like this stranger brought warmth the house had forgotten.

Finally, Jungkook stepped aside.

“Yeah. Sure. Come in.”

The young man walked past him with a quiet nod, eyes scanning the dusty entryway with something that looked too much like nostalgia.

As he walked toward the staircase, Jungkook asked, “What’s your name?”

The young man paused mid-step.

Then turned with a soft, shy smile.

“They used to call me Tae.”

 As taehyung come in,

Tae moved through the mansion as if he’d never left it.

He walked with quiet confidence, fingers brushing along the stair rail like he knew every groove, every scar in the wood. Jungkook followed at a distance, arms crossed, his gaze trailing over the back of the boy who had arrived uninvited... and yet, somehow, belonged.

Without asking, Tae stepped into the main living room and opened the tall velvet curtains. Dust danced in the sudden sunlight like startled spirits. He opened windows next—one by one—letting the scent of forest and earth spill inside.

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe.

“You act like you’ve lived here,” he muttered.

Tae looked over his shoulder, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It just... feels familiar.”

He picked up a vase from the mantle. Wiped it clean. Put it back in the exact same spot.

“I used to dream of this place,” Tae continued. “Even after I left. The scent of the wood. The way the floors creak in the afternoon. The light in this room after ten a.m... it’s all still here.”

Jungkook didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t even sure why he was letting a stranger clean his house without proof of employment—or identity.

But something about Tae quieted the usual tension in his chest. His presence was... warm. Strange, but warm.

Tae turned to him, brushing his hands on a folded cloth.

“Is it just the two of you staying here?” he asked lightly.

Jungkook stiffened.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Me and my wife.”

There was a flicker of something in Tae’s eyes, but it was gone before Jungkook could place it.

“I can start with the kitchen,” Tae offered. “Then the guest rooms. I’ll stay out of your way.”

He headed down the hall again, disappearing around the corner like he knew exactly where to go.

Jungkook stood there a moment longer, arms still crossed.

Who the hell are you really, Tae?

Then his eyes drifted to the mantle.

The vase Tae had cleaned was sitting exactly where it belonged—perfectly centered. But Jungkook didn’t remember seeing it there before.

In fact...

He didn’t remember owning it at all.