CHAPTER 3: QUESTIONS LEFT UNANSWERED
The dorm was louder than usual.
Someone was laughing down the corridor, music leaking through half-closed doors, footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. Life moved on effortlessly around Jimin—but he felt stuck in a moment that refused to loosen its grip.
Hoseok hadn't spoken much since the hallway.
Not during dinner.
Not during practice.
Not even when Taehyung cracked a joke so bad it made everyone groan.
He was still smiling, though. That same radiant smile—the one that fooled everyone.
Everyone except Jimin.
That night, Jimin lay awake longer than he should have.
The ceiling fan hummed softly above him as his thoughts replayed the hallway scene again and again. The pause in Hoseok's steps. The way his breath had faltered. The sentence he hadn't finished.
Some people don't need to be remembered out loud.
"Who were you talking about, hyung?"
The next morning, Jimin noticed something else.
Hoseok avoided mirrors.
Not obviously. Not enough for anyone to comment on it. But when they passed reflective surfaces—windows, elevator doors, practice room walls—Hoseok's gaze would slide away, like he was afraid of seeing something that wasn't there.
Or someone.
"Hyung," Jimin called after practice, jogging to catch up with him. "You're leaving already?"
Hoseok adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Yeah. I have something to do."
"What kind of something?"
Hoseok paused, then smiled again. "The boring kind."
Jimin didn't believe him.
He followed—at a distance, heart pounding louder with every step. Not because he wanted to invade Hoseok's privacy, but because something inside him whispered that if he didn't follow now, he'd regret it.
Hoseok stopped near the old campus building.
The one they never used anymore.
Paint peeled from the walls, and the lights inside flickered weakly. It felt forgotten—like time had abandoned it halfway through a sentence.
Hoseok stood there for a long moment before reaching into his pocket.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
The letter.
Jimin's chest tightened.
Hoseok didn't read it this time. He just stared at it, fingers trembling slightly, before tucking it back into his pocket.
"I looked for you," he murmured.
Jimin froze.
Hoseok's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried weight—like a confession meant for empty walls.
"I really did."
Silence answered him.
Hoseok exhaled, a tired sound, then turned away.
That's when Jimin stepped forward.
"Hoseok-hyung."
Hoseok stiffened.
"You weren't supposed to hear that," he said quietly.
"I wasn't supposed to read the letter either," Jimin replied. "But I did. And now I can't unsee it."
Hoseok faced him slowly. The smile didn't come this time.
"Some questions," Hoseok said, "don't have answers."
Jimin shook his head. "Or maybe you're just afraid of saying them out loud."
For a moment, Jimin thought Hoseok might snap.
Instead, his shoulders sagged.
"He disappeared," Hoseok said.
Jimin's breath caught.
"No goodbye. No explanation. One day he was there, and the next—" Hoseok stopped himself. "Everyone told me to move on."
Jimin swallowed. "Did you?"
Hoseok laughed softly. It didn't sound happy.
"If I had," he said, "that letter wouldn't exist."
They stood there in silence, the past pressing in from all sides.
Jimin didn't ask who it was.
Not yet.
But he knew one thing for sure—
Whatever had vanished from Hoseok's life hadn't stayed gone.
And the echoes were getting louder.