Chapter 1: The Stranger in the Glass
The beeping came first, followed by the hushed, hurried whispers of strangers. Sunghoon let out a strained breath, his head rolling weakly to the side.
His entire body was a map of soreness. He could still feel the phantom touch of the ice engulfing him, even though he was clearly lying on a firm, sturdy surface. Every breath felt like a labor; his chest tightened with a sharp, stinging pain every time he drew air into his lungs.
His fingers drifted, clutching the coarse hospital sheets as he fought to pry his leaden eyelids open.
The rhythmic beep-beep-beep grew louder, making him feel disoriented and nauseous. At first, he thought it was his alarm. Perhaps the balcony, the fall, and the freezing water had all been a fever dream,a nightmare brought on by the stress of his career.
He couldn't remember the details.
Everything was a blur of nicotine clouds one moment and a plunge into a dark, icy abyss the next. He had never actually used the swimming pool at his apartment complex. He'd always intended to,when he had the time. But time was a luxury he didn't have, not with scripts piling up on his desk and his dreams of launching an entertainment empire. He had only ever looked at the water from the height of his balcony.
I should wake up and turn off that alarm, he thought. His mother or sister were likely already in the apartment. His sister was notorious for using her spare key to sneak in when she wanted to skip school or "borrow" money. And his mother... the thought of her cleaning his kitchen and leaving behind a fresh batch of food warmed his aching heart.
He felt a sudden pressure on his hand,someone checking his vitals.
"He seems to be doing well," a strange voice murmured nearby.
"Why isn't he waking up, though? It's been days," another voice asked, thick with concern.
Sunghoon wondered who they were talking about. Days? He didn't recognize these people. Maybe they were paramedics? Maybe his nightmare was real, and he'd been rushed to the emergency room?
He groaned, his head lolling to the side. Immediately, a hand settled on his wrist. It was soft, careful, and strangely intimate.
His eyes finally fluttered open, but the overhead fluorescent lights were so blinding he had to wince and shut them again.
"You're awake!" a voice exclaimed in a rush of relief.
Why did this stranger sound so desperate? He tried to open his eyes again as the presence left his side, the warmth of the hand replaced by a sudden chill. But the void didn't last long; several pairs of feet shuffled into the room. Hands gripped his face, prying his eyelids upward as a penlight seared into his pupils.
He tried to pull away, but the voices became a roar in his ears. The headache intensified until it was a physical weight, dragging him back down into a dark, silent oblivion.
When he woke a second time, the lights were dim and bearable. Night had fallen.
He was in a ward,a shared one. Four beds, separated by thin, flimsy curtains. This realization sent a spark of confusion through him. Every time Sunghoon went to the hospital, he was sequestered in a private suite to hide from the paparazzi. Why am I in a general ward?
His bladder was heavy, a dull ache that forced him to move. To his relief, his toes and fingers responded. He hadn't been paralyzed by the fall.
He slid his feet into the plastic flip-flops by the bed. Grabbing the IV stand for support, he began the long, silent trek toward the bathroom, careful not to wake the patient in the next bed.
Inside, he relieved himself with a groan of pure physical necessity. He flushed the toilet and turned toward the sink, his mind already drifting toward how hungry he was.
Then, as he reached for the tap, he caught his reflection.
Sunghoon froze.
The man staring back at him was a stranger.
He looked to be in his early twenties, with dark hair that flowed past his shoulders. His lip was split, and a jagged purple bruise marred his left cheek. He looked like he'd been in a brutal street fight.
Sunghoon stood paralyzed on the cold tile, his breath hitching. This wasn't the face that had graced a hundred movie posters. This wasn't the face his mother kissed.
He stumbled back, his spine hitting the bathroom partition. This isn't me. He lifted a trembling hand to his face; the stranger in the mirror mirrored the movement perfectly. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. He didn't care about the needle in his arm or the hospital gown. He grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it open.
"There you are! You were in there so long, I came to check if you,"
A young woman stood there, her eyes wide with worry. Sunghoon didn't know her. He didn't recognize a single feature of her face.
"This has to be a dream!" he hissed, bolting past her. He shoved his way into the hallway, the IV needle ripping out of his vein. A trail of blood began to splatter against the linoleum floor.
"Haru! Where are you going?" the girl screamed, chasing after him.
Haru? Who the hell was Haru?
He sprinted past the nurses' station, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He needed an exit. He needed to wake up. He needed his body back.
He rounded a corner, one shoe flying off his foot, his heart hammering against his ribs. He saw the "Exit" sign,the red light at the end of the tunnel.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around him, pinning him to the wall.
"Calm down! You're going to hurt yourself!" a nurse shouted.
Sunghoon thrashed, his eyes fixed on the door. The girl from the room caught up, her eyes glistening with tears. Seeing her pain made him falter for a split second,enough time for a doctor to step forward.
He felt the sharp prick of a needle in his arm. The world began to tilt. His strength evaporated, leaving him limp in the orderlies' arms.
"Not again," he whispered, his voice fading as the darkness claimed him once more.