The switch

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The lights didn’t just go out — they *folded in.*

Like the mansion had swallowed its own glow and left them in a void stitched together by breath and static.

Jungkook’s camera flickered alive again, the red record light blinking faintly.

On screen, they were still visible — but something was off.

The feed showed them from a *different angle.*

It wasn’t the camera Jungkook was holding.

It was as if someone else was filming them.

“Who’s streaming right now?” Namjoon whispered. “I thought we stopped—”

“I didn’t,” Jungkook muttered. “It’s still going.”

The comments were back. But instead of usernames, they showed timestamps.

> *00:13:21 — don’t move*

> *00:13:22 — one of you already did*

A low hum filled the hall, vibrating through their bones. The pumpkins—cold and unlit—started weeping wax, streaking like blood down their carved faces.

“Enough of this.” Jin grabbed a chair and smashed one of the pumpkins. It burst open, spilling something thick and dark. Inside, something *moved.*

Jimin screamed.

Taehyung didn’t. He just turned, slow, like he’d been waiting for it.

The air shimmered around him. His reflection on the camera shifted—his face, for a heartbeat, looked like Jungkook’s.

Jungkook felt the chill crawl up his spine.

“Tae?”

Taehyung’s voice was wrong—too deep, echoing like there were two of him.

> “Trade faces. Trade fates.”

Then the camera glitched.

In one frame, Jungkook stood in front of the lens, terrified.

In the next—he was looking *through* it.

His hands—Taehyung’s hands—held the camera now.

He gasped. His reflection stared back from the lens: not his face.

“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, voice breaking. “What’s happening—”

Taehyung—his body, his voice—looked back at him, calm as ever. “You were always the one the mirror wanted.”

The others shouted in panic. Namjoon grabbed Jungkook’s shoulders, trying to shake him awake. Hobi called out for the crew, but the audio picked up only faint whispers—like the walls themselves were laughing.

The livestream showed two Jungs, two Taes—one set alive, one mirrored. The mirrored versions were a few seconds behind, smiling when the real ones didn’t.

Then, a message appeared across the livestream feed in red text:

> *“THE SWITCH IS COMPLETE.”*

Every candle reignited with a hiss, the flames bright blue.

The mirrors upstairs—though no one had touched them—shattered all at once.

Jungkook staggered forward, clutching his chest.

He could feel Taehyung’s pulse. His voice. His breath. Inside *him.*

“Tae,” he whispered, voice trembling, “I can hear you.”

From across the hall, Taehyung—his real body or what was left of it—looked up.

A faint smile. Soft. Sad.

> “That’s because I’m in you now.”

The livestream audience went wild with confusion. Some thought it was scripted. Others began leaving panicked messages.

And for a brief moment—only visible to the viewers—two shadows stood behind Taekook, tall and still, wearing their faces but grinning wider.