Mirror

L i g h t s

|| e d i t e d ||

"When I close my eyes, in the darkness your light, woah, lights the way for me. We can walk forward without fear, you & I woah" ~ BTS, Lights

불

L i g h t s

~ Jae-hyun ~

JIMIN'S HAND TIES ME TO REALITY.

Like Ji-han, he tugs me along the sidewalk beside him, somehow maneuvering my uncoordinated self and my largely empty duffel bag through the ever moving maze of bodies littering Seoul's busy city streets. Although, he does so in a slightly different manner to my brother. He's visibly more careful with both of us as well as his maknae [typically the youngest member of an idol group]. He keeps his head ducked, falling closely in step with Jungkook, the younger's elbow brushing over Jimin's bicep with his every movement.

It's painfully clear to me that the two of them are avoiding all possible eye contact with every individual who passes by. Jimin doesn't want to be seen where his only protection is his beloved hubae [junior] and someone who can't even tell the difference between reality and his own senseless thoughts. But at the same time, he keeps both Jungkook and I close, avoiding eye contact for our sake, carefully pulling the pair of us along beside him so that we're out here, vulnerable on the streets, for a shorter amount of time.

Stumbling clumsily over my own feet through the crowd of strangers, I earn a few second glances. As someone who bears Jimin's face (only more worn and beaten down. Although I didn't dare venture anywhere near the apartment bathroom during the time I was quickly packing to leave the place for good, I know from the events of the last few weeks that I probably look like some starved, zombie-like version of Jimin), I'm genuinely surprised that strange, critical stares are all I get walking through this particular part of the city. Usually, people are quick to approach me (or at least I think so?), only to vanish the second they learn the truth of who I am; someone who is not and will never even compare to Jimin. Maybe they never really spoke to me at all, and my memories of them doing so have been planted in my head by my own brain to act as a reminder of that thought? I suppose I can never know.

Jimin squeezes my hand, but the gesture is not accompanied by any words. He doesn't dare speak - neither of the idols do. Although, they don't need to. The reassuring pressure applied by Jimin's fingers - small compared to Jungkook's, normal holding mine - is enough to make me realise that their looks aren't condemning so much as they are curious. My mind is twisting what I see once again.

Though, isn't it always? I don't think there will ever be a day in my life where I don't lose myself in my own head.

This thought is only reinforced when I catch sight of Ji-han's face at the upcoming street corner. Leaning casually against a tall concrete wall, his dark hair and even darker eyes are a stark contrast against the dull shade of grey. I blink, his name on my tongue, my lips already forming the first syllable. But just like that, he's gone. I trip, the toe of my shoe catching the lip of the pavement, and I stumble, only just managing to keep myself upright with the help of Jimin's firm grip on my hand.

Loitering against the side of the building is a boy who appears to be around nineteen. He's about Ji-han's age, but he is not Ji-han. Despite my first thoughts, he doesn't look anything like my brother. The young man entering a taxi a little further up the street does.

And so does the man driving past us, his car window wound all the way down.

And so does the male student, dressed smartly in his school uniform with headphones tucked snugly in his ears, paying the three of us no mind.