Chapter 4: The Mirror Between Worlds

Taehyung hadn’t left the apartment in days.

The air had grown stale, saturated with the scent of sage, blood, and the faint cologne Jungkook used to wear—the one that used to make Taehyung’s heart flutter, back when they were still alive together. Now, it turned his stomach. Sweet and spoiled. A scent clinging to the fabric of memory, to the sheets, to his skin. No matter how many times he scrubbed, it never faded.

But none of it masked the growing decay in the walls.

The paint was peeling in thin curls like shedding skin. The corners of the ceiling wept with dark moisture. Shadows moved without cause—sometimes stretching across the floor, even when there was no one there to cast them. And the mirrors—every single mirror in the house—had started to distort. Warping. Bending light in ways that defied nature.

At first, they only rippled, like glass touched by wind.

Then the reflections changed.

Sometimes they didn’t show Taehyung at all. Just the room, empty. Cold. Silent. Other times, they showed him standing beside Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder—his head tilted toward the figure who wasn’t physically there.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, the silence was deeper. More attentive.

Taehyung stood before the mirror in the hallway, fingers curled tightly around the hem of his shirt as he pulled it up to reveal his chest. The black mark had grown—what had once been the size of a coin now spanned his ribs, spidering down like veins filled with ink. It pulsed when he touched it. A sick rhythm not entirely his own.

His breathing had become labored, shallow. Every inhale a struggle. But it wasn’t pain that made him tremble.

It was anticipation.

Behind him, in the mirror, Jungkook stood.

Tall. Pale. Dressed in the black suit he was buried in, the fabric pristine as if time never touched it. His eyes were darker now, reflecting no light, only hunger. His hands hung at his sides, unmoving.

But when Taehyung turned around—

No one was there.

He faced the mirror again. Jungkook remained, now smiling, lips tinged red. A predator’s patience.

“You’re almost ready,” the reflection whispered.

Taehyung’s voice cracked. “Ready for what?”

The mirror cracked slightly, a thin line running across Jungkook’s face. Still, the smile remained.

“To cross over. To join me.”

Taehyung backed away. “I’m not dying. I’m not—”

“You are,” Jungkook replied softly. “Piece by piece. Night by night.”

The bedroom door creaked open on its own. The air dropped ten degrees. Frost kissed the edges of the mirror’s frame.

Taehyung turned slowly—and there he was.

No longer just a ghost.

Jungkook stepped into the light. His features were clearer now, less corpse-like, more solid, more him. As though Taehyung’s grief, his fear, his surrender, had stitched flesh back to his bones. His hands no longer trembled. His presence no longer flickered. His eyes burned with an otherworldly clarity.

“You’re afraid,” he said, brushing a knuckle down Taehyung’s cheek.

“Yes,” Taehyung whispered.

“Good. Fear makes the binding stronger.”

He took Taehyung’s wrist, guiding him toward the mirror. It had changed now—no longer a reflection, but a window. Through it, Taehyung saw a room like his, but inverted. The colors were wrong. The plants in the corner were withered, the candles melted and black. The world outside the window held no stars—just a void sky, endless and still.

“That’s where I live,” Jungkook said. “That’s where you’ll be safe. No one can take you from me there.”

Taehyung’s throat closed. “I can’t go.”

Jungkook pulled him closer, until there was no space between them. “Then I’ll bring it here.”

He kissed him then. Deep and slow, lips cold as ice, yet igniting something inside Taehyung—something ancient and consuming. The moment their mouths met, the lightbulbs overhead burst, shattering in a burst of sparks. Darkness flooded the room, thick and alive, swallowing everything.

And for a heartbeat—no time.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

When the lights flickered back on, Taehyung stood alone.

The room was silent. Still.

But the mirror was different.

His reflection stared back, but something was wrong. It was smiling when he wasn’t. And beside it, Jungkook stood—watching. Waiting.

Always waiting.

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