tamagotchi

PART I | he came like a nightmare, like a dream

It’s Wednesday and the sky is gloomy. The sun is hiding behind the clouds, giving off a grayish, colder than normal atmosphere. Cool breeze make the twigs sway, autumn leaves filling up every path. For Freya, it’s a good day. Though the nimbostratus clouds may bring heavy rain this afternoon, it still left a smile on the young woman’s face.  After all, it’s her first official day of becoming a strong independent woman. The twenty-three year old had fought for her independency since she turned eighteen against a strict, overprotective family. It’s only when she received a job offer far away from her hometown that her mother had finally let her loose— well, kinda. There’s still the announced and unannounced visitations that her mother will do from time to time. It’s a deal she agreed to. Her friends saw it as “too much” but she saw it as unconditional love. “You know how to compromise.” One of her friends remarked when she gave them the news.

Nonetheless, she’s now standing by the apartment building— seconds away from sealing it off. Her independence.

“Bring it to third floor, last room to the left.” The man who owns the building tells the men Freya hired to help her move her things. His attention then focuses on her. He tells her to follow him as he will give her a short tour around the unit.

Before they enter the apartment, the owner gives Freya the spare key and the updated code for the automated lock. “You can change it once everything’s settled.” He tells her before pushing the door open.

It is when they’re inside that she finally let herself loose and smile so wide. Her heart is literally leaping from happiness right now.

She drops the bag she’s carrying to take in the familiar yet new surrounding. Freya had only seen the apartment in pictures on a Facebook post. It was sent to her by her college friend who she informed that she’s looking for an apartment near her workplace. Due to the rush transfer requested by the company she’s working for, she didn’t have time to check it out in person. Her worries of living in an unsafe and uncomfortable place washed away once she finds how neat and pretty it actually is than the pictures she saw on the Internet.

“This has to be the only presentable unit that has been used for years.” The owner remarked. “It’s all thanks to the previous tenant who always cleaned the place once a week. It’s either she was a germaphobe or someone who just loved to clean— but I’m thankful. It’s the only unit Joe didn’t have to enter to clean. It helped the old guy somehow.” Freya didn’t know who Joe was but she thinks it’s the janitor who’s assigned to clean the units of the building. The owner’s kind of talkative and as Freya listened to the guy talk, she let herself wander around the place.

The color of the wall resembles the yellow sunflower dress she used to love when she was eighteen. The outer walls are made up of plywood stacked together painted in bright yellow but the inner walls are cemented. The floor is tiled. The lines that separates the tiles are not covered with mold— it’s surprisingly bright pink. The unit has two windows. One above the sink and the other is inside the bedroom, right beside the bed. The two windows are enough to bring the needed sunlight in the apartment. Freya unhooks the window by the bed and slides it up to allow some some fresh air to get inside.

Freya steps back to find a small bookshelf near the bed enough for all the books she had brought with her. It makes her smile just from the thought of it. She takes a couple of steps further, her heels turn around then a high pitched shriek leaves her mouth when she finds a face with a funny expression looking back at her: big eyes and mouth wide open, mirroring hers.

“Oh my God!” Freya clutches her chest, ears red and cheeks flushed. She calms herself down once she realizes it was just her stupid reflection. Before her is a mirror attached to the wall right in front of the bed. The mirror is blurry, it has stains that she couldn’t tell coming from where or what. It is big enough to take in her face and her torso.

“This doesn’t go with the room.” She mutters before reaching her hands forward with an attempt to pull out the mirror from the wall.

“It’s stuck?” Her hands pull harder, clutching her small hands on the wood covered sides of the mirror.

“Miss don’t!” The owner shows up out of nowhere and grabbed her arm away from the mirror. It terrified Freya for a second. The man notices her expression and retreats his hand right away.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes casts down, regret evident. “It’s just that the previous tenant requested not to remove the mirror at all.”

“It’s ugly and already foggy. It’s hard to even call it a mirror. What is there to keep?” She replies with knitted eyebrows. She didn’t want to sound disrespectful but she just couldn’t keep it to herself.  There is no way that it makes sense at all. The unit is now hers. Why would she allow something that was of the previous tenant to stay in the unit she already own?

“It was her last wish.”

“Sorry?”

“The previous tenant died of old age and the only wish she had is to keep the mirror in the unit.”  

The news broke her but at the same time it worried her. Freya couldn’t keep her mind off of the mirror hanging right in front of her bed. It felt odd to have something from a person who passed away, especially when she barely knows the person.

Everything’s settled now. All her things are inside the unit and the owner has already left with the reminder that she keeps the mirror. It bugs her so much that every time she passes by it, she keeps her eyes away from it.

It seriously creeps the hell out of Freya. The mirror bothers her so much that the first night she spends in her unit, she couldn’t sleep well. She tosses and turns, she grunts and gasps unable to keep her occupied mind to rest.

It’s still Wednesday night and it’s raining cats and dogs. If it doesn’t creep her out even more, thunder and lightning flashes through the open window. The harsh wind is entering through it, making Freya’s exposed shoulders shiver. She hurried to go under the covers a while ago and forgot to close the window. Freya decided to keep it that way. That to let the cold in and just sleep it off. Now rain started to enter as well, making her blanket damp and her shoulders literally shake. She know she have to go and close the window herself.

Her feet comes out first before the rest of her body follows. Her eyes are half shut, eyelids fluttering as she stretches her hands out reaching for the window. She drags the edge of it down and hooks it fast, locking it.

That was actually easy. She thought to herself. But she crosses that thought out once a lightning slams against a nearby tree. She yelps in shock, pushing her index fingers inside her ears, then turning around to ready for the loud boom of the thunder. It comes after 6 seconds, Freya had counted. Her eyes squeezes together throughout the whole sound, shaking up the glass window as it went. It’s scarily close!

Her back is flat against the wall beside the window. Eyes are open now while her palm is against her chest, calming her fastened heartbeats. This unconsciously led her eyes towards the mirror. She doesn’t notice this until another lightning flashes. The light hitting the mirror reflects against her face. It shined so bright it made her eyes squint for a second, but through this she finds something. Her curiosity led her right in front of the mirror. Freya reaches her open hand towards the bottom of the foggy mirror. There’s something written on it but it’s blurry. She takes a piece of cloth, the scarf she used a while ago, and presses it against the mirror. She vehemently wipes the stains and dust away from the bottom part of the mirror, uncovering a series of letters. The scarf falls from her grip, her feet moves back, trying to see the words better as they slowly form into words then sentences in her brain.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Show me the truth behind it all.

The other side, another world

Let my eyes see through the mirror.”

“What?” A deep chuckle escapes her chest. “Was the previous owner the Wicked Queen?” She tries to humor it.

Thunder rocks the sky again, making the mirror shake. Freya apologizes quickly for the stupid joke she made about the late tenant. She’s quite superstitious.

                                                          • • •

The twenty-three year old smashes her head with a pillow, groaning from the noise. Rock music is playing. It disrupts her peaceful sleep. Is this how thin the walls really are? The music seemed like it’s coming from her room. Her alarm doesn’t even sound like this. This is not an alarm, this is ear mutilation.

“Ya!” Freya cries, pushing her legs up in frustration. She finally sits up, ruffling her hair, whining. Thoughts of moving to another apartment crosses her mind. Everything wrong is here. Thin walls and a creepy antique mirror. It’s literally made out of a tenant’s nightmare!

She opens her eyes, finally, ready to demolish whoever is playing the noise (Freya don’t call rock genre as music). But she closes it again, smiling sheepishly. “I must be dreaming.” A forced grin follows then a laugh.

The terrified woman pushes herself back to the bed, covering herself with the duvet. Repeating the words that somehow brings comfort to the seemingly Halloween special episode of a morning, “I must be dreaming.” She keeps doing this until the rock music stopped. When it does, she pushes the duvet away from her then lifts her head to take a peek back to the mirror.

Her eyebrows furrow together as she tries to make out of the view on the mirror. It doesn’t look like a mirror now but more like an illusion. She’s looking into another room— another bed opposite of hers.

“What the f—“ she stops midway after she finds a man walking towards his bed with dark wet hair. His hair is so wet that the water dips from the strands. Some of the water droplets end up on his toned chest. Some lands on his pelvic area, just below his abs. The guy is pale and the lower part of his body is covered by a white towel. His wet hair is covering his line of sight and he seemed like he’s looking for something. Freya on the other hand— on the other side, has her saliva stuck in her throat. She didn’t move an inch. Her eyes are wide as an owl as she studies the man walking around his own room. He searches under the sheets (his bed and pillow covers are all in black), then on the cabinet right next to the bed. Freya clutches the ends of her duvet, her heart is thumping fast, as the man is walking closer to the mirror.

Is he going to pass through the mirror? That thought enters her now lagging brain.

“Where is it?” His voice is deep and groggy. It made Freya gulp. He is now rummaging under the mirror, looking for something. Freya quite understood that there must be a table under his mirror where he is searching. She could hear keys being pulled aside and plastic bottles falling over. A sigh then escapes the pale pink lips of the guy, his shoulder slouches. It looks like he had given up looking for it, whatever it is. Without any word, he pushes his hair up and stares right into the mirror, staring right into the eyes of a horrified Freya.

Freya didn’t break yet, because she’s still battling whether the guy could see her or not. There’s a silent, deafening pause that runs for a straight twenty seconds. The two did not blink at all during that time. Freya studied his face, looking for a sense of recognition. And she sees it, the slight quirk of the eyebrows. That is when she screams, loud. Her eyes are still on the guy and when she found him moving back from the mirror and running away from sight with his hands against his ears, she screamed even louder.

It got to a point where she strained her voice already that she decided to stop. The guy is no longer in sight but the room is still there. The mirror is no longer doing its sole purpose— instead it’s now a window to another person’s room. Freya slowly sits up, holding the duvet over her clothed torso. It’s as if she was the one found out topless and in a towel. She carefully put her feet down and stands up, eyes not leaving the mirror.

A slam of the door makes her jump a little, and it’s not her door. The guy shows up on the mirror again, now fully clothed. His hair is already brushed properly but still damp.

“Are you the new tenant?” His droopy, cold eyes follow her to the side of the window where she stood the night before, back flat against the wall. He does not seem so surprise of all this.

“Y-yeah.” Freya answers, stammering.

“How many days since?” The guy continued to probe as if the unit itself is his.

“Since yesterday?” Her mind is running with so many questions that even her answers sounds like one.

“And you read it already?” It didn’t sound like a question but more like a comment. A smirk forms over his lips after he says that. He opens his mouth again to say something but a call interrupts him. The guy follows the sound and finds the phone under the pillow. “There you are.” He mutters lowly.

Freya watches him intently as he goes on with his call. During this time, she studies him. She notices his slouchy posture and his unoccupied slender fingers casually making its way to the back of his ear, scratching that part. It seems like a habit, as he does it from time to time. She couldn’t get over how pale his complexion is for a man. He’s wearing a black shirt and black square pants casually, it makes his skin tone stand out more. Two rings cover his right middle and ring finger. Aside from playing with his ear, he also hiss from time to time when he is in thought. He doesn’t smile much too. He looks cold and reserved.

Freya slaps herself from almost believing that it is all real. She could never imagine something like this to be true in real life. It’s a childish dream.

Freya stuck to this idea and dropped the duvet. She approaches the mirror to face the nightmare— and hopefully wake up from it. When the guy finally ends the call with whoever he was talking with, he turns his face back to the mirror only to be surprised by the sudden close proximity he has with the new tenant.

“Woah,” he says in monotone. He steps back from the mirror, slightly caught off guard.

“I know this is a nightmare.” Freya purses her lip and stares back into the guy. He has now flopped back unto the mattress of his bed. There’s a hint of perfunctory in his demeanor. Uninterested and undisturbed, the complete opposite of what Freya is going through right now.

“Hey!” She pounds against the mirror, begging for his attention, begging for an answer, some kind of confirmation that this is just a nightmare. It’s when she notices the still existence of the mirror. Her hands does not pass through. She realizes it’s a barrier and not a complete portal.

The guy sits up finally, sighing loudly. Freya couldn’t tell if she really earned his interest or he’s just worried she might break the mirror.

“Where’s Tammy?” He asks, eyes cast down, dejected.

“T-tammy?” Who? Freya is already very confused and now he’s asking about someone who she doesn’t even know.

“The previous tenant, before you. The person who owns the mirror.” His voice break, and it breaks her heart too. She just realized that the man is looking for the old woman who stayed in the unit before her, and it seemed like doesn’t know that she had passed away already. Freya is put into a position she doesn’t know what to do or what the right thing to say.

“I know you know what happened to her.” He pushes, putting Freya in a corner.

“Sh-she passed …” Freya confesses. There’s no really point in lying. It seemed like the guy really cares enough to know— in fact he cares more than she thought because once he heard the words come out of her mouth, he stood and took a piece of a black clothing then covered the mirror with it. He shut her away and Freya never woke up from that dream— because in the very first place, it was never a dream.

PART II | the ghost from the mirror

It has been two days. The storm had already passed and the sun is already visiting the once bedroom of Freya, making the room glow in golden. Her job does not start until next week so she took all the time to herself to fix her unit, put things in order, and made some time to pay the owner a visit to ask about the previous tenant— whom she grew so curious about since the unordinary encounter with the ghost from the mirror. Freya etched it in her brain that what happened that Thursday morning was not a dream. It really happened and she most definitely arrived to a conclusion that her unit is actually haunted with the ghost from the mirror. Ever since then, she had transferred her bedroom to the other room near the kitchen. The room has been turned into her office. To avoid seeing the ghost again, she, too, has covered the mirror with a cloth. It makes her feel safe when she comes in to look into some of her papers.

Of course, Freya had tried a couple of times ringing her friends, asking for help in finding her another apartment that’s just minutes away from her workplace— but to no avail, all the apartments in the city is cramped up and full. She has no choice but to stay.

“It creeps me out to be honest.” Freya is following the owner around as he waters his various plants in his garden on the rooftop of the building. “I mean, why haven’t you even told me that the previous owner died? That’s false advertising, you know.”

“How am I suppose to sell my units if that’s the first thing I put on an online post?” The owner, Mr. Jeon, stops what he’s doing to face the adamant Freya.

“Unit available! But hold on, the previous tenant died! 50% discount due to this on your first three months! What are you waiting for?” Mr. Jeon throws his hands up and mocks the poor girl. It leaves a grumpy Freya, staring at him, displeased.

Mr. Jeon erupts in fits of laughter, making fun of Freya, his tenant. Should he really be laughing right now? Freya couldn’t help but question Mr. Jeon’s understanding of the matter. She angrily sips into her coffee, ignoring the forty year old man’s laugh dying down.

“You shouldn’t really be scared, Freya.” The man is now back, stable, but still a goofy smile is written on his lips. He continues hosing the plants with water. Freya observed how the landlord loves his plants so much. It’s the first thing he does in the morning, he goes upstairs at around 7 o’clock to check on his plants. He was so worried the past couple of days. He couldn’t sleep thinking about the storm and how it might have destroyed his poor plants. Freya helped him yesterday to clean up the mess. Some roots were yanked out of their pots, leaving Mr. Jeon swearing towards the passing storm.

“Miss Tammy was sent to a residence for the aged and expired there.” He pauses and looks at Freya, seeing that she’s quiet and intent in listening, he continued. “She left this place six months before she died so the unit is unoccupied for about a year and a half.”

“No one wanted the unit for that time being. As if the unit itself is driving the people away. They couldn’t last a minute inside and just run out of the door, leaving me baffled. But nothing is wrong. I go inside and it’s just fine. I believed it’s the mirror. It has a dark aura in it. I tried many times to remove it myself despite my promise towards Miss Tammy. I needed more money to support my son in looking for a job at an airline. It’s antique and I was desperate. But it just wouldn’t budge.” Mr. Jeon reaches for the faucet nearby and turns it to stop the water from coming out of the hose. He places it on top of the railing and pushes his right sleeve to reveal a long, deep scar.

Freya gasped. “It’s what the mirror did to me when I tried to remove it.”

“It’s cursed, isn’t it?”

“Many times when I roam around at night to check for stray animals, I could hear Miss Tammy talk. It’s like she’s having a conversation inside— she even laughs— which she rarely do. Miss Tammy wasn’t really bright as a person. She was often serious and misunderstood. But I heard her having gossips with another person inside that unit, and it creeps me out sometimes because I know she’s alone. Nobody visits the old woman.” The man pushes the sleeves back down and brush his hand over his arm twice. “My hairs are standing.” He grins. It makes the hairs on the nape of Freya’s neck stand too.

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, because I might drive you away but you seemed the kind of person who won’t believe what I’m saying.” For a second, Freya found Mr. Jeon as insensitive and a fool. She is scared. She does believe and she is really terrified.

After that, Mr. Jeon didn’t want to talk further about it. He said he’ll continue for another time. He didn’t want to creep Freya out but he couldn’t help his mouth from running. It’s a mistake that he did because as soon as she got back to her unit, Freya started to pack her things.

“Fuck it, I wouldn’t risk another night here.” She whispers to herself as she enters the room with the mirror. Though there is clearly a cloth hanging over the mirror, she doesn’t glance at it, not even once. She straight away goes to the mini bookshelf and start stacking up her books.

“I don’t know where I’m going but it’s better than staying here. This place is a freakshow,” she continues talking to herself as she transfer to her desk, collecting the papers into her arms. “Mr. Jeon would understand.”

“Understand what?”

“He’ll understand that this unit is no longer habitabl—“ her words fade out into  distance after it hit her. Someone talked back to her and it’s definitely not the voice in her head.

Three knocks follow. She falls silent. Standing, frozen, with papers gripped close to her chest. Her muscles tenses.

“Did you put something over the mirror too?” It’s the same guy from the mirror. He’s back. After two days, he’s back to haunt Freya out of the unit.

“I’m leaving!” She whimpers. Her hands scurry away, gathering all the things she can carry in her small hands and arms. It makes her heart beat faster, every second of it, and now beads of sweat are forming on her forehead.

“Why do you sound so scared?” The voice scoffs. “Do you think I’m some kind of a ghost?”

“If you’re not one, then what are you?”

“Has it ever cross your mind that I’m just like you?”

“L-like me?”

“A functional, living, breathing human? I also have a job you know.”

Freya whips her head towards the mirror. A couple of things from her hands drops. “What?” She snaps.

“Would you please remove this?” He knocks twice against the mirror. Freya who is now burning with questions drops the things altogether and approached the mirror with heavy, angry steps. She yanks the cloth away and ends up face to face with the guy with cold, hooded eyes.

Her face reddens from the closeness of their faces. She takes a couple of steps away from the mirror while the guy just leans back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“What did you mean?” Freya asks.

The guy does not answer, instead, he falls silent, observing the room where Freya is standing. He notices it. The changes in the room. For a second, his eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended by it. Instinctively, Freya moves to cover the part where his eyes are boring.

Unlike Freya’s, the guy’s room is just as the same. Dark curtains coupled with the dark sheets covering his bed. It appears that every color Freya likes, he despises. He has everything of the darker shades of every color. Not one thing resembling the bright palettes the inside of Freya’s closet.

“Hey.” He blinks twice, her voice drags him away from his deep train of thoughts.

“Huh?” Freya just realized he spaced out. She then, ignoring that fact, crosses her arms over her chest.

“You said you’re just like me.”

“I am.”

The woman scowls, unsatisfied with the one word, one sentence reply of the guy. “Couldn’t you be more responsive? You know? Be more sensitive towards me?” Her hands flies up in frustration.

“Why?”

This one word reply brings both her hands against her face, as she screams into it. “I hate this!” Freya storms towards the cloth and picks it up. It’s like that one word was enough to push her to her final decision. Leave the mirror, leave this unit. Get over all this bullshit.

“W-w-wait!” He stutters over a word. His hands are stretched and out, attempting to stop Freya from covering the mirror again. This doesn’t faze Freya. She’s determined and very done. None of this would rattle her anymore, except for the very two words that comes out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry!” Forced but begging, enough for Freya to stop bolting towards the mirror.

“I know you’re way over your head right now.” He runs his hand over his hair, untangling some strands as he does. “But before anything else, I’m Yoongi.” He stretches his hand out in an offer of a stupid, invisible handshake.

Freya’s eyebrows are knitted together. Confused, disturbed, and full of questions, still, she reaches her hand out as well. “I’m Freya.”

Then they seal the loose understanding with an invisible handshake. It’s where it starts. The blossoming of a friendship— or maybe something more—through the mirror.

PART I | he came like a nightmare, like a dream

It’s Wednesday and the sky is gloomy. The sun is hiding behind the clouds, giving off a grayish, colder than normal atmosphere. Cool breeze make the twigs sway, autumn leaves filling up every path. For Freya, it’s a good day. Though the nimbostratus clouds may bring heavy rain this afternoon, it still left a smile on the young woman’s face.  After all, it’s her first official day of becoming a strong independent woman. The twenty-three year old had fought for her independency since she turned eighteen against a strict, overprotective family. It’s only when she received a job offer far away from her hometown that her mother had finally let her loose— well, kinda. There’s still the announced and unannounced visitations that her mother will do from time to time. It’s a deal she agreed to. Her friends saw it as “too much” but she saw it as unconditional love. “You know how to compromise.” One of her friends remarked when she gave them the news.

Nonetheless, she’s now standing by the apartment building— seconds away from sealing it off. Her independence.

“Bring it to third floor, last room to the left.” The man who owns the building tells the men Freya hired to help her move her things. His attention then focuses on her. He tells her to follow him as he will give her a short tour around the unit.

Before they enter the apartment, the owner gives Freya the spare key and the updated code for the automated lock. “You can change it once everything’s settled.” He tells her before pushing the door open.

It is when they’re inside that she finally let herself loose and smile so wide. Her heart is literally leaping from happiness right now.

She drops the bag she’s carrying to take in the familiar yet new surrounding. Freya had only seen the apartment in pictures on a Facebook post. It was sent to her by her college friend who she informed that she’s looking for an apartment near her workplace. Due to the rush transfer requested by the company she’s working for, she didn’t have time to check it out in person. Her worries of living in an unsafe and uncomfortable place washed away once she finds how neat and pretty it actually is than the pictures she saw on the Internet.

“This has to be the only presentable unit that has been used for years.” The owner remarked. “It’s all thanks to the previous tenant who always cleaned the place once a week. It’s either she was a germaphobe or someone who just loved to clean— but I’m thankful. It’s the only unit Joe didn’t have to enter to clean. It helped the old guy somehow.” Freya didn’t know who Joe was but she thinks it’s the janitor who’s assigned to clean the units of the building. The owner’s kind of talkative and as Freya listened to the guy talk, she let herself wander around the place.

The color of the wall resembles the yellow sunflower dress she used to love when she was eighteen. The outer walls are made up of plywood stacked together painted in bright yellow but the inner walls are cemented. The floor is tiled. The lines that separates the tiles are not covered with mold— it’s surprisingly bright pink. The unit has two windows. One above the sink and the other is inside the bedroom, right beside the bed. The two windows are enough to bring the needed sunlight in the apartment. Freya unhooks the window by the bed and slides it up to allow some some fresh air to get inside.

Freya steps back to find a small bookshelf near the bed enough for all the books she had brought with her. It makes her smile just from the thought of it. She takes a couple of steps further, her heels turn around then a high pitched shriek leaves her mouth when she finds a face with a funny expression looking back at her: big eyes and mouth wide open, mirroring hers.

“Oh my God!” Freya clutches her chest, ears red and cheeks flushed. She calms herself down once she realizes it was just her stupid reflection. Before her is a mirror attached to the wall right in front of the bed. The mirror is blurry, it has stains that she couldn’t tell coming from where or what. It is big enough to take in her face and her torso.

“This doesn’t go with the room.” She mutters before reaching her hands forward with an attempt to pull out the mirror from the wall.

“It’s stuck?” Her hands pull harder, clutching her small hands on the wood covered sides of the mirror.

“Miss don’t!” The owner shows up out of nowhere and grabbed her arm away from the mirror. It terrified Freya for a second. The man notices her expression and retreats his hand right away.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes casts down, regret evident. “It’s just that the previous tenant requested not to remove the mirror at all.”

“It’s ugly and already foggy. It’s hard to even call it a mirror. What is there to keep?” She replies with knitted eyebrows. She didn’t want to sound disrespectful but she just couldn’t keep it to herself.  There is no way that it makes sense at all. The unit is now hers. Why would she allow something that was of the previous tenant to stay in the unit she already own?

“It was her last wish.”

“Sorry?”

“The previous tenant died of old age and the only wish she had is to keep the mirror in the unit.”  

The news broke her but at the same time it worried her. Freya couldn’t keep her mind off of the mirror hanging right in front of her bed. It felt odd to have something from a person who passed away, especially when she barely knows the person.

Everything’s settled now. All her things are inside the unit and the owner has already left with the reminder that she keeps the mirror. It bugs her so much that every time she passes by it, she keeps her eyes away from it.

It seriously creeps the hell out of Freya. The mirror bothers her so much that the first night she spends in her unit, she couldn’t sleep well. She tosses and turns, she grunts and gasps unable to keep her occupied mind to rest.

It’s still Wednesday night and it’s raining cats and dogs. If it doesn’t creep her out even more, thunder and lightning flashes through the open window. The harsh wind is entering through it, making Freya’s exposed shoulders shiver. She hurried to go under the covers a while ago and forgot to close the window. Freya decided to keep it that way. That to let the cold in and just sleep it off. Now rain started to enter as well, making her blanket damp and her shoulders literally shake. She know she have to go and close the window herself.

Her feet comes out first before the rest of her body follows. Her eyes are half shut, eyelids fluttering as she stretches her hands out reaching for the window. She drags the edge of it down and hooks it fast, locking it.

That was actually easy. She thought to herself. But she crosses that thought out once a lightning slams against a nearby tree. She yelps in shock, pushing her index fingers inside her ears, then turning around to ready for the loud boom of the thunder. It comes after 6 seconds, Freya had counted. Her eyes squeezes together throughout the whole sound, shaking up the glass window as it went. It’s scarily close!

Her back is flat against the wall beside the window. Eyes are open now while her palm is against her chest, calming her fastened heartbeats. This unconsciously led her eyes towards the mirror. She doesn’t notice this until another lightning flashes. The light hitting the mirror reflects against her face. It shined so bright it made her eyes squint for a second, but through this she finds something. Her curiosity led her right in front of the mirror. Freya reaches her open hand towards the bottom of the foggy mirror. There’s something written on it but it’s blurry. She takes a piece of cloth, the scarf she used a while ago, and presses it against the mirror. She vehemently wipes the stains and dust away from the bottom part of the mirror, uncovering a series of letters. The scarf falls from her grip, her feet moves back, trying to see the words better as they slowly form into words then sentences in her brain.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Show me the truth behind it all.

The other side, another world

Let my eyes see through the mirror.”

“What?” A deep chuckle escapes her chest. “Was the previous owner the Wicked Queen?” She tries to humor it.

Thunder rocks the sky again, making the mirror shake. Freya apologizes quickly for the stupid joke she made about the late tenant. She’s quite superstitious.

                                                         • • •

The twenty-three year old smashes her head with a pillow, groaning from the noise. Rock music is playing. It disrupts her peaceful sleep. Is this how thin the walls really are? The music seemed like it’s coming from her room. Her alarm doesn’t even sound like this. This is not an alarm, this is ear mutilation.

“Ya!” Freya cries, pushing her legs up in frustration. She finally sits up, ruffling her hair, whining. Thoughts of moving to another apartment crosses her mind. Everything wrong is here. Thin walls and a creepy antique mirror. It’s literally made out of a tenant’s nightmare!

She opens her eyes, finally, ready to demolish whoever is playing the noise (Freya don’t call rock genre as music). But she closes it again, smiling sheepishly. “I must be dreaming.” A forced grin follows then a laugh.

The terrified woman pushes herself back to the bed, covering herself with the duvet. Repeating the words that somehow brings comfort to the seemingly Halloween special episode of a morning, “I must be dreaming.” She keeps doing this until the rock music stopped. When it does, she pushes the duvet away from her then lifts her head to take a peek back to the mirror.

Her eyebrows furrow together as she tries to make out of the view on the mirror. It doesn’t look like a mirror now but more like an illusion. She’s looking into another room— another bed opposite of hers.

“What the f—“ she stops midway after she finds a man walking towards his bed with dark wet hair. His hair is so wet that the water dips from the strands. Some of the water droplets end up on his toned chest. Some lands on his pelvic area, just below his abs. The guy is pale and the lower part of his body is covered by a white towel. His wet hair is covering his line of sight and he seemed like he’s looking for something. Freya on the other hand— on the other side, has her saliva stuck in her throat. She didn’t move an inch. Her eyes are wide as an owl as she studies the man walking around his own room. He searches under the sheets (his bed and pillow covers are all in black), then on the cabinet right next to the bed. Freya clutches the ends of her duvet, her heart is thumping fast, as the man is walking closer to the mirror.

Is he going to pass through the mirror? That thought enters her now lagging brain.

“Where is it?” His voice is deep and groggy. It made Freya gulp. He is now rummaging under the mirror, looking for something. Freya quite understood that there must be a table under his mirror where he is searching. She could hear keys being pulled aside and plastic bottles falling over. A sigh then escapes the pale pink lips of the guy, his shoulder slouches. It looks like he had given up looking for it, whatever it is. Without any word, he pushes his hair up and stares right into the mirror, staring right into the eyes of a horrified Freya.

Freya didn’t break yet, because she’s still battling whether the guy could see her or not. There’s a silent, deafening pause that runs for a straight twenty seconds. The two did not blink at all during that time. Freya studied his face, looking for a sense of recognition. And she sees it, the slight quirk of the eyebrows. That is when she screams, loud. Her eyes are still on the guy and when she found him moving back from the mirror and running away from sight with his hands against his ears, she screamed even louder.

It got to a point where she strained her voice already that she decided to stop. The guy is no longer in sight but the room is still there. The mirror is no longer doing its sole purpose— instead it’s now a window to another person’s room. Freya slowly sits up, holding the duvet over her clothed torso. It’s as if she was the one found out topless and in a towel. She carefully put her feet down and stands up, eyes not leaving the mirror.

A slam of the door makes her jump a little, and it’s not her door. The guy shows up on the mirror again, now fully clothed. His hair is already brushed properly but still damp.

“Are you the new tenant?” His droopy, cold eyes follow her to the side of the window where she stood the night before, back flat against the wall. He does not seem so surprise of all this.

“Y-yeah.” Freya answers, stammering.

“How many days since?” The guy continued to probe as if the unit itself is his.

“Since yesterday?” Her mind is running with so many questions that even her answers sounds like one.

“And you read it already?” It didn’t sound like a question but more like a comment. A smirk forms over his lips after he says that. He opens his mouth again to say something but a call interrupts him. The guy follows the sound and finds the phone under the pillow. “There you are.” He mutters lowly.

Freya watches him intently as he goes on with his call. During this time, she studies him. She notices his slouchy posture and his unoccupied slender fingers casually making its way to the back of his ear, scratching that part. It seems like a habit, as he does it from time to time. She couldn’t get over how pale his complexion is for a man. He’s wearing a black shirt and black square pants casually, it makes his skin tone stand out more. Two rings cover his right middle and ring finger. Aside from playing with his ear, he also hiss from time to time when he is in thought. He doesn’t smile much too. He looks cold and reserved.

Freya slaps herself from almost believing that it is all real. She could never imagine something like this to be true in real life. It’s a childish dream.

Freya stuck to this idea and dropped the duvet. She approaches the mirror to face the nightmare— and hopefully wake up from it. When the guy finally ends the call with whoever he was talking with, he turns his face back to the mirror only to be surprised by the sudden close proximity he has with the new tenant.

“Woah,” he says in monotone. He steps back from the mirror, slightly caught off guard.

“I know this is a nightmare.” Freya purses her lip and stares back into the guy. He has now flopped back unto the mattress of his bed. There’s a hint of perfunctory in his demeanor. Uninterested and undisturbed, the complete opposite of what Freya is going through right now.

“Hey!” She pounds against the mirror, begging for his attention, begging for an answer, some kind of confirmation that this is just a nightmare. It’s when she notices the still existence of the mirror. Her hands does not pass through. She realizes it’s a barrier and not a complete portal.

The guy sits up finally, sighing loudly. Freya couldn’t tell if she really earned his interest or he’s just worried she might break the mirror.

“Where’s Tammy?” He asks, eyes cast down, dejected.

“T-tammy?” Who? Freya is already very confused and now he’s asking about someone who she doesn’t even know.

“The previous tenant, before you. The person who owns the mirror.” His voice break, and it breaks her heart too. She just realized that the man is looking for the old woman who stayed in the unit before her, and it seemed like doesn’t know that she had passed away already. Freya is put into a position she doesn’t know what to do or what the right thing to say.

“I know you know what happened to her.” He pushes, putting Freya in a corner.

“Sh-she passed …” Freya confesses. There’s no really point in lying. It seemed like the guy really cares enough to know— in fact he cares more than she thought because once he heard the words come out of her mouth, he stood and took a piece of a black clothing then covered the mirror with it. He shut her away and Freya never woke up from that dream— because in the very first place, it was never a dream.

03: IT JUST LEAVES YOU THERE, QUIET AND ACCEPTING.

It's a pandemic, they said. It has been happening two months before Jimin slept and never woke up. It started in a small city in Middle East and spread to the east. It was like an airborne virus that nobody know how to stop. Nobody could trace the symptoms of it. It just happens, to anyone. A lot of people, mostly conspiracists, speculated it must be the aliens. Religious people said it's a punishment. Normal people said it's a damn pain in the ass.

We called it "The Old Age death". When the death count raised the bar, world class doctors united to find the cause and the cure for it. Many said it's a hopeless project, because it wasn't a disease to start with. It's a curse. The doctors claimed that it would take a long time to study the Old Age death, so they resorted to spreading a specific drug to somehow reduce the death toll.

That specific drug is Meth. When I found out about it I laughed maniacally. Who ever thought a drug that's been banned for years, the drug that ruined a lot of lives, is now the only thing that will keep people alive?

You see, Meth causes Insomnia. It could keep you awake for days. The doctors strictly prohibited using it twice a month, as it may result to addiction. They said if the drug wears off early, like on the second week of the month, excessive drinking of caffeine could be the last resort.

As Meth helped tons of people, the death percentage though didn't fluctuate. It helped people, sure. But those who are only deemed worthy to survive. People who didn't have enough penny to afford Meth, had to resort to caffeine and energy drinks only. The combination of the two beverages somehow worked for poor people. But for a short time only. Because too much of it causes cardiac arrest.

There were now two things that accompanied the curse. Death by caffeine overdose and meth overdose.

Somewhere between the two happened to Jungkook.

When Jungkook died, he was in his room alone. The five of us decided to stay together even if we were given an emergency break. Nobody really spoke about it, but we all knew we wanted to be there for each other when we take our last breath. The more we want to be with each other when we survive the apocalypse.

We tried so hard to keep each others awake. We do round shots of meth once a month together. Jin hyung prepares the coffee we have to drink three times a day, making sure that it won't be more than 10 g— as it is the alarming amount that results to caffeine overdose. When we give ourselves a 30 minutes sleep each day, one keeps an eye and check on our breathing. This setup made us even more closer but sadder than ever.

Days went by and turned into months, we have made progress in handling our grief. Jimin and Hobi's room are still intact. We didn't move anything since they left. When we miss them, we just visit their room and cry. Sometimes I talk inside the room and act like Jimin is still there. I tell him how much I love his voice and how I wanted to write so many songs for him to sing to. I always cry during those parts. When I go into Hobi's room, I just lie on the bed and hug one of his pillows. Hobi smelled so good for a man. I liked how he was so tidy and clean. He was so domesticated. Silence just fills the room as I try to remember Hobi's laugh and the way his mouth shapes into a heart when he's happy. Then I imagine how anywhere he is, he could be smiling still. And then I end up smiling too.

Namjoon goes to his therapist every day to talk about it. That's where he is most comfortable. Sometimes Jin hyung ask me to go fishing with him just to take his mind off everything. Jungkook plays Overwatch and focused more on his GCF's. Taehyung visits his girlfriend often, and sometimes brings her to our loft to look out for her. Everybody seemed like they had found their coping mechanism.

But on a gloomy Sunday, around supper, I knocked on Jungkook's door to invite him to the kitchen. Three consecutive loud knocks but I get no response.

Unlike Hobi's, I knew it right away. But with Jungkook I didn't expect it at all. Before I forced myself into his room, I thought it was just because he couldn't hear me from using headphones and playing loud music, in case he was actually editing some videos he filmed months before. Times when we were still complete. Jungkook loved to reminisce through editing his videos. It's kind of how he prevent himself from completely forgetting Hobi and Jimin. Not like anything that's happening with us is forgettable.

When I found Jungkook, he was in fact wearing his Bieber signed headphones. One of his favorites. I was given a short relief when I found him sitting behind his desktop, editing a certain video. On the screen of his monitor was a paused clip of Jimin and Hobi laughing at the camera. It was in our Seoul stadium concert. The first day. The certain day we all last seen Jimin's wide smile where his eyes would often appear in straight lines.

From the frame you could see no trace of Jimin passing away after 12 hours. It was so unexpected. So unexpected that it left a huge hole in our hearts. The kind of hole that will never regenerate.

Jungkook's passing was quiet. When I went to see his face, I didn't bother to shake him. It was a scene that could give you no reason to be in denial. The whole situation was so hard to decipher that it doesn't allow you to weep or scream. It just leaves you there, quiet and accepting.

His doe deer-like eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. It looked disturbing but to my surprise it was peaceful.

Our maknae experienced cardiac arrest and he took his last breath looking at two of his beloved hyungs whom he looked up to so much.

I took a sit on the edge of his bed as it was hard for me to stand up. My legs were shaking and I knew if I stood up for a longer time, I will hit the ground sooner or later.

The whole time I just watched the back of Jungkook's head. The way he rest his head back on the chair, his arms were carefully placed on each armchairs. His legs were apart a few inches from each other but down on his ankles, his feet crossed. He was wearing the Ironman socks that day, the same socks that fans found adorable of him during our early days as a group.

The whole moment looked like a picture to me. A picture that has a huge story to tell. A young man taking his last breath as he mourned for his long lost brothers. It was achingly artistic. A term that is so wrong to say but it's how I felt. It's as if, somehow, I was thankful that our maknae died. Then again, I sound so harsh. But thinking about my youngest brother having to take shot of Meth every month just to stay alive, it hurts my heart. The young boy who we all raised well shouldn't experience so much sadness and pain. I don't want him to carry it. The burden of dealing with a loss as such a young age, I wouldn't be able to deal with it. But Jungkook did, and that's what hurts me the most.

So when Namjoon entered the room in annoyance, as both of us didn't return to the kitchen for dinner, I couldn't say anything.

"Hyung, why is Jungkook ..." Namjoon trailed as he switched his questioning eyes from Jungkook to me. I just looked at him, silent and defeated. I couldn't give him a reassuring answer. Was there ever a good way of saying one of our brother is dead? Because saying I'm sorry doesn't fit that description.

Namjoon didn't wait longer for me to give him an answer so he ran outside of the room and called for Jin and Taehyung.

Jin ran in and even managed to laugh. Out all of us, Jin took Jungkook's death the hardest. I've never seen Jin so helpless until he saw Jungkook's lifeless body. He was such in a state of denial. He even playfully punched Jungkook in the stomach and offered himself to be his dongsaeng's punching bag, just like old times.

It was hard to see Jin pretending Jungkook was still alive. Taehyung on the other hand couldn't even make it inside the room. He leaned and sat by the wall, looking inside, as tears filled his eyes. Several times he shook his head as if he doesn't want to accept it. His best friend, dying, out of a sudden. Nobody couldn't. I mean ever since Jimin died, I have begun to believe in the false truth that all of this is just one big bad nightmare. But it isn't.

Namjoon was just like me. Crying in silence. Shedding invisible tears. After somewhat two hours later, Jin was sitting beside Namjoon, dried tears and silent. Taehyung had stopped crying too. We were just in silent. So silent that all I could hear were heartbeats and breathing. And it's sadder that all that I could decipher are four hearts still beating. Only four hearts now.

It took me some time to gather strength to stand and close Jungkook's eyes myself. Then I just kissed him on his forehead, and hugged him so tight. I squeezed him so hard, I felt how his body had become so cold. After that I just left and called Jungkook's parents myself.

I guess everyone in that room also gave their own goodbyes. We all left the room one by one and sat on the kitchen table. No one was moving their food.

We were just waiting for Jungkook's parents to come as well as the ambulance that will take him to the morgue until Jin suddenly spoke out and said that we should eat. Eat more so we could eat for Jungkook as well. He said that Jungkook would like it.

And we just did.

And of all the deaths I've witnessed in those times, this was the most heartbreaking. Because of how fast we had handled grief.

It's as if we were used to it already that we could still eat in the kitchen while a piece of us on the other side of the wall couldn't anymore.

HE'S A LIGHT SLEEPER, HE SHOULD BE AWAKE BY NOW!

They said it's the kind of death, old healthy people have. The painless, most peaceful death. The kind of death that's hard to explain to a million of fans around the globe.

It took two weeks before we had to break out the heart wrenching news. We knew we had to. The fans were looking for him. Jimin's name were on the trends almost every day. It even hit the western media. Dispatch came to look for Jimin. Everyone was looking for him and we already ran out of excuses. Actually, the management left the decision to us. It was us who decided that ARMYs had to know the truth. Even if it's painful.

But the day ...

On that same day after we broke out the news by a fancafe post, I ...

We were still mourning. I still find it hard to go around the dorm without hearing Jimin's voice. We were still on the process of trying to live without the one piece that made seven of us complete, when Hobi followed.

It was the toughest press conference we had to hold. Several medias were there, both local and foreign. The fact that we don't have concrete facts to support as to why Jimin had a sudden death was stressful enough. We were both scared and grieving at the same time. The combination isn't that pretty.

We went with three different cars to go to the venue. I was on the same car with Hobi. It was quite a long ride so Hobi fell asleep on the way. Almost all of us couldn't get a wink of sleep ever since the funeral. The bags under my eyes are crystal clear. The dark circles under Hobi's was harder to cover up with makeup. That was the only time Hobi could sleep, so I let him be.

When we arrived, I didn't bother to wake him up. I immediately went out and closed the door. Unlike Jiminnie, Hobi was a light sleeper. Cough once and he'll frown at you for jolting him awake. So when he didn't come out right after me, I started to get worried.

I hastily opened the door and called after him. "Hoseok-ah!" I screamed right at his face. I never screamed so loud before that. It caught the attention of Jin hyung and Jungkook who just arrived at the venue.

One of our manager pushed me and looked at me weirdly. I already have tears in my eyes when Jin hyung came closer to see what was happening.

"Yoongi-hyung, why are you crying?" Was the first thing Namjoon said as soon as he got off the car.

"He's not waking up." I tell the manager instead, who was patiently trying to wake up Hoseok. "He's a light sleeper! He should be awake by now!" I was hysterical. I knew it came off a little bit out of hand but I was still scarred of what had happen to Jimin -- I've grown even more sensitive than before.

The whole situation looked ridiculous to a lot of people around there. Jungkook even chuckled nervously. "Hobi must be just really tired hyung. He hadn't slept for a while since ..." Jungkook stops himself from finishing that very sentence.

"Who fucking knows CPR?!" I ignore the protests that's building around me. I may look crazy, but I stay close to the facts. The rest of bangtan knows it, but only kept a blind faith. Nobody wanted to face the truth. Nobody wanted to believe it.

So I went and tried my best to revive Hobi myself. A lost cause that is. When Hobi's nonexistent breathing was confirmed by a medic that was hanging around the press conference, that's when I lost it.

I erupted like a volcano. I guess that's how I coped up with too much sadness and pressure. The last time I expressed such anger and rage was during our predebut days. Namjoon and I were facing tons of discrimination as well as unfair treatment from the higher ups in the music industry that built up too much pain. So when Namjoon mistakenly gave away an original composed song by me instead of his to sell to underground artists, I just lost it. I guess that only happens when I couldn't do anything anymore. When I'm helpless and ran out of places to run to. 

Manager Seijin had to bring me somewhere else for me to cool myself off. When the rage was too much for me to handle, I threw and broke things. I didn't care if the things I broke were expensive, I could pay for it now. But what worth could money offer when it can't even bring back your best friends? So I broke more things. Tables, chairs, mirrors.

When I didn't have anything to break anymore, I tried to break myself instead. Punch my chest several times so hard because my heart ached. It ached so bad I started to wail. I didn't know where to project the pain. But a part of me blamed myself for letting Hobi sleep. I should've known it was the last time he'll close his eyes.

I was on a separate room, wailing, while the rest of Bangtan were brought to another. None of them went to the hospital with Hoseok's body. I guess none could stomach it.

When I entered that room after I calmed myself, I found them all silent. As if all the tears that could be shed, have been shed to the floor already. It was then when Namjoon broke the news to me.

He said, it wasn't just us that's suffering. Half of the world already was. My mind was too clouded to comprehend what he meant, that I resorted into violence. The only outlet I knew.

"Are you trying to say we aren't any special? Of course, a lot of people die too! Do you mean we should mourn for everyone's death?"

I raised my hand against Namjoon, and I was about to swing when Taehyung spoke out of a sudden. "Jimin and Hoseok aren't here to stop you from fighting." His voice was deep and serious. Taehyung obviously wasn't trying to stop the fight, he was just stating the obvious.

And he was right. The two were known to be our peacekeepers. When things get rough we always run to the two. They're the fairy and sunshine of our group— the goodest of all. They were too good for us.

"I'm sorry." I let go of Namjoon and found myself a seat, calming myself by doing the breathing exercise taught by my therapist.

"It's okay." Namjoon finds a corner and does the same.

01: HE WAS JUST RESTING

When people said the world is going to end someday, they predicted it a little different. They said, every disaster will happen all at once. The land would shake, the ocean water would rise, and storms would wipe away trees and houses on the same day. No one will see the light of the day except for those who worshipped God. Those who spent the rest of their lives praying towards a God, preparing for rapture.

Rapture. The ascending of good souls to heaven.

They say when Rapture happens, it would be brief. Like a snap of Thanos' hand. Every good soul will just disappear in thin air. Everyone who deserves paradise will be taken right before the world starts to crumble, leaving sinners like me to suffer and witness the earth mold into the second hell.

But all of that are false assumptions. Every disaster movie failed to predict how the world is going to end. Even the religious beliefs about Rapture. It's not all at once.

The second hell is not about the world crumbling down, it's about every sinner's world that's going to be destroyed.

God has a better punishment for the sinners who didn't believe in him. And this is how it started for me.

When Jimin didn't wake up on the day of our last Stadium Tour in Seoul, everyone thought it's just of exhaustion. The six of us worried more about the fans that were hoping to see us the last time before we take a long hiatus than Jimin who was probably just making fun of us.

To be honest we did not see it coming. It wasn't not usual for Jimin to not wake up even being rolled around and slapped in the face. Jimin was a heavy sleeper. But when one of our manager who started to get worried pushed us away from Jimin and put up his index finger below Jimin's nose— that's when my heart started to beat fast.

The whole room went silent when the manager moved from Jimin's nose to putting his ear against our fairy's chest. The hair in the back of my neck stands as I witnessed the worry and panic in the eyes of the manager.

"Call an ambulance, now!" He shouted to anyone inside the room. Namjoon panicked as he tried to call the emergency number. His phone slipped from his hand and it fell on the hard floor. I was no longer surprise, Namjoon was known for being his clumsy self, but it was the way he took it back was what stricken me. His knees shook as he bent down to take it, as well as his hands. It was the very first time in a long time I saw Namjoon falling out of his constantly composed self. Usually, he always knew what to do in situations where panic would ensue inside the room -- but it is only this time that he froze. But it wasn't just him who did not know how to react.

"What's happening? What's wrong with Jimin?" Taehyung looked confused and scared at the same time.

Our manager didn't say anything but instead started to do CPR. One of the bodyguards ushered the rest of the staffs to leave the room to give Jimin space to breathe. If he was even breathing at that time.

One of our stylists tugged me on my sleeve to tell me that we should as well leave. But I stayed still. My feet is stuck to the ground. I couldn't move. I thought that if I moved, I'd shatter into million pieces so I stayed put and didn't listen to her. Nobody else did. We just stayed there and silently prayed.

Prayed to whomever could give life to our fairy, Jiminnie. It was the first time I prayed again. I think the last the time that I did was when I was in high school. When I tried to ask for a sign from Buddha, Jesus or whoever was listening, if I should pursue music or not. I wasn't given a definite answer back then, as I faced multitudes of obstacles on the way. I guess due to it, I stopped believing in the capabilities of a higher being in granting prayers. But that day, that certain day, I cast away all my beliefs-- or the lack of it, and prayed to whomever listened.

Yet again, I just ended up being disappointed.

The ambulance came and a doctor and two nurses came in. I remember how my toes and fingers simultaneously went cold. How I couldn't properly breathe— as if breathing was something offensive to do when Jimin couldn't even.

The doctor started to ask us questions. Like what did he eat before he went to sleep, if he felt any sort of pain days before, or if he has some kind of disease that until now I can't pronounce well. None of those stood a chance to explain what happened to our best friend. Yes, he had a limp days before. But a sprain on the ankle is too far for a heart to just stop functioning.

It was when the fans on the stadium started to sing Spring Day along with the music video that was playing as they wait for us to come out when the doctor declared those three haunting words.

"Time of death .."

Everything after those words I failed to register. It's like a gun was pulled right beside me and my ears started to ring. The ringing was so loud, I couldn't hear the cries of my bandmates.

I caught a glimpse of Jungkook looking up to Namjoon. The way I read his lips, asking our leader innocently, "Hyung it's not true right?" As a tear escaped his eye. But Namjoon couldn't say anything. For the first time, he did not have all the answer.

Taehyung fell to his knees and crawled towards Jimin, shaking him so hard. Among all of the members, though all of us are tied like brothers, Taehyung and Jimin was the closest. They stood together like Yin and Yang, like soulmates, what most of Armys call their duo. Somehow between the moments I've shared with them together, I started to believe that they really were. They had this connection. A brother and a best friend to each other. They always had each others back, something I wish I also had.

Jin hyung followed right after V, screaming after Jimin, pulling the arm of his dongsaeng. Jimin can't be gone, I remember him repeatedly saying those words- almost like a chant. I know it was just him trying to tell himself, surrendering himself to denial.

Hoseok, he cried. He cried so hard his shoulders moved, but he didn't move. It was the type of cry that wails. He wailed and when I saw him— that's when I broke down too.

The way I broke down did not have hot tears pouring down my face. I tried so hard to cry but I couldn't breathe. The lack of oxygen made me faint.

Later on they said it was a panic attack. When I woke up at the hospital, nobody was there to visit except for my family. Apparently when I blacked out, Namjoon and the rest had to gather themselves together for 30 minutes to go out and apologize to our fans. I wasn't there but I felt how agonizing it was to lie in front of a seventy thousand people.

The management decided to keep it at first. They pulled the flu card on me and Jimin. It was fine for a couple of days. The fans took it gladly, saying that rest is what we really need. Even thanked the management for allowing us to. I hope Jimin just needed rest. I hope it was something we could easily find a blame on. But you see, exhaustion wasn't his cause of death. Nobody died for performing too much while getting enough sleep and eating the right food.

They said that he just drifted off and stopped breathing.

00: Prologue

When half of the world falls asleep and never wake up, what happens to the other half?

A strange pandemic causes panic to the cities, both in Asia and the rest of the world. People started dying in their sleep with no apparent cause. Fear and determination to survive arises. The rush to find a cure heightens as the number of fatalities doubles every second.

In this apocalyptic story, we hear Min Yoongi's side— part of the once famous boy group from South Korea, as he tackles living through it with his best friends and losing them one by one.

01: HE WAS JUST RESTING

02: HE'S A LIGHT SLEEPER, HE SHOULD BE AWAKE BY NOW!

03: IT JUST LEAVES YOU THERE, QUIET AND ACCEPTING.