The morning light filtered gently through the window, casting a delicate glow across my workspace as I hunched over the canvas, sketching. My pencil moved in steady strokes, outlining the beginnings of a figure - not just any figure but a familiar one, a vision already so alive in my mind. I was working on *her,* Aein's daughter, whom I often called "sweetie" as a quiet homage. Each line on the canvas felt like another layer, bringing her essence closer to life, yet still only half-real, suspended in the realm of shadows and graphite.

I paused, squinting as I visualized the colors that would eventually fill the empty space around her. In my mind, they burst with vibrancy - jewel tones rich with depth, colors that almost sang against each other. I wanted a paradox, an image that exuded life yet felt tinged with something somber, like a flower blooming under a stormy sky. Somehow, I needed to balance these opposing energies, so the viewer would feel it too - that silent weight of melancholy lying beneath the surface of brightness.

Tracing the contours of her face, I thought of the soft look she often wore, a smile that never reached her eyes. That look had struck me the first time I'd seen her, and it was what I wanted to capture here: the brightness of youth, tempered by a sorrow she'd never speak of, a silent grief embedded in every line.

My pencil hovered as I considered the negative space, the voids around her. These, I thought, would be essential. They would carry the atmosphere of the painting - muted, shadowed, perhaps even a little threatening in their emptiness. I envisioned the colors swirling softly around her form, fading into darkness at the edges. A part of me almost wanted the colors to be whispering secrets, something hauntingly familiar, pulling the viewer in and pushing them away all at once.

Satisfied for the moment, I leaned back, studying the sketch, feeling the weight of what it would become. "There you are, sweetie," I murmured under my breath, as if the image could hear me. "We'll make them see everything you're holding inside."

The quiet rhythm of the room shifted as Jimin burst in, his excitement practically vibrating through the air. "Guess what, JK? I found out that the mails written to Y/n's mother were sent from Busan to be shipped internationally. And that means - Mai was definitely from Busan!"

I blinked, taking a moment to register his words. "Right! Now that I think of it, Mai was indeed from Busan," I replied, surprised by the revelation. It seemed so obvious now, something I should have pieced together long ago.

Jimin noticed the canvas in front of me and tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Sketching," I murmured, gesturing toward the canvas with a faint smile. "This will go on my canvas soon. Just mapping out my vision. See? She's 'sweetie' - Aein's daughter. I've dreamt of her before, you know, like a glimpse of someone familiar."

Y/n, seated beside me, barely lifted her eyes from the book she was reading, her brow arching as she examined the sketch. "She looks so much like Jimin," she teased, the edges of her mouth curling up. "Are you sure you're not just drawing Jimin gender-swapped?"

That drew a round of laughter from us, the idea both ridiculous and oddly plausible. But Jimin - he didn't join in. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on the sketch, his expression shifting, his joy from moments before dimming like a candle struggling in the wind.

As our laughter faded, I noticed the change in him. His eyes lingered on the figure I'd drawn, not in admiration but something deeper, almost as if he were looking past the lines on the canvas and seeing someone... or perhaps something... else. Sadness pooled in his eyes, raw and unguarded, a quiet sorrow that he seemed to be holding at bay but couldn't fully conceal.

"Hyung...?" I murmured softly, uncertain if I should break the silence, not wanting to shatter the fragile atmosphere that had settled around him. But he didn't respond, didn't blink - just continued staring, as if he were lost within the ghostly image of Aein's daughter, Sweetie, a vision I hadn't realized would be profound.

The room was dead quiet for a moment, like the air had been sucked out. Jimin's eyes stayed glued to the sketch, but it wasn't like he was looking at it-it was like he was looking through it, at something only he could see. Something from a place we couldn't touch.

I fumbled to fill the silence, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Hyung, listen, I swear I didn't mean to draw her to look like you. It just happened. Subconsciously, I guess. If it bothers you, I can-"

"No," Jimin cut me off, his voice soft but unsteady. "No, it's not that. She's beautiful. It's just..." His words trailed off, and he hesitated, like whatever he wanted to say was stuck in his throat. Finally, he looked up at me, and his eyes were shining in a way that made my chest hurt. "She looks like my mom. Like... exactly like her. It's like she's alive again, right here in front of me. And it's beautiful. It's overwhelming."

I froze, the sketch in my hands suddenly feeling heavier. "Your mom?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin nodded slowly. "Yeah. My mom. She used to tell me her nickname was Sweetie when she was younger. And she was born in '65."

Y/n, who'd been quiet until now, leaned forward, frowning. "Wait, that doesn't add up. You were born in '78, right?"

"Yeah," Jimin said, his tone turning bitter. "She was thirteen when she had me. A child herself. She thought she was in love, ran away with some boy who promised her the world but sold her instead. That's how she ended up with my father. That monster took everything from her-and then from me."

The weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find something to say. "Hyung... Sweetie-the Sweetie in my dream-she had a child young too. She was barely older than a kid. And her father... her father was a politician. Park Shin-Ju, if I remember right."

Jimin's head snapped up so fast I thought he'd given himself whiplash. His eyes were wide, his face pale. "What did you just say?"

"Park Shin-Ju," I repeated, the name tasting strange on my tongue now. "I think he was her father. I wrote it down somewhere... in my journal..."

Jimin's jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. "Jungkook, are you telling me that Sweetie-the girl in your sketches, your dreams-is my mother?"

I stared at him, stunned into silence. Y/n's hand flew to her mouth, and her wide eyes darted between us like she was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't make sense.

"That can't be," she murmured. "Can it?"

Jimin let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded like it hurt. "It is. Park Shin-Ju was my grandfather. I found out after he died-found out I was in his will. I didn't think much of it at the time. I didn't care. Family didn't mean anything to me then."

"Hyung..." My voice wavered as I tried to process everything. "You've known this whole time? That you might have a family out there? And you never told us?"

"I didn't think it mattered!" he snapped, but his voice cracked halfway through, and the anger bled into something softer, something broken. "What was I supposed to say? That some dead politician left me a fortune? That I was tied to a legacy I never asked for?"

"What did you inherit?" Y/n asked, her voice cautious but firm.

Jimin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A hundred acres of land. An old house that's still standing somehow. And a ridiculous amount of money-more than I'd make in five or six years, even with promotions."

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us like a heavy fog. I didn't know what to say, what to feel. Sweetie. His mom. The people in my dreams. It was all tangled together now, a web of stories we were only beginning to unravel.

"You know, I hate you right now," I said, half-joking, but the bitterness in my tone gave away the sliver of truth in my words.

Jimin tilted his head, his eyes crinkling in amused disbelief. "Why? Because I have money?"

"Yes!" Y/n huffed, throwing her arms up. "And because it doesn't seem to matter to you at all!"

He leaned back with that infuriatingly calm smile, the one that said he already knew he was right. "Well, think about it. If I kept the money, I'd have to pay taxes on it. Right now, I'm only paying 3%, but if I claimed everything, I'd be at 35%. So, I put it all in a trust and donated it to my orphanage. Problem solved."

Y/n stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Seriously, I hate you," she said, her tone caught between frustration and disbelief.

Jimin's laugh was soft, but then it faded, and so did the humor in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping to the floor. "You know," he began, his voice quieter, "the real reason I didn't want to meet Shin Ju's family is because... my mother never went back to him."

The air felt heavier, like the unspoken weight of his words had found its way into the room. I shifted in my seat, unsure whether to speak, but the sadness in his voice made it impossible to stay silent. "Hyung," I said softly, "both your mother and Y/n's mother misunderstood their parents. None of them would have ever refused them. And none of them really left."

Jimin looked up at me, his expression thoughtful, like he wanted to believe it but couldn't quite let himself. Y/n broke the silence. "Can I ask a question?" she said carefully, her voice breaking through the tension.

"Of course," I replied.

She hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "How do you know all this? Cheon Seok died before my mom was even born. How could you possibly have memories of anything after he was gone?"

I sighed, leaning back and rubbing the back of my neck. "That's a good question," I admitted, glancing at her. "And honestly? I don't know."

Jimin tilted his head, curiosity flickering back into his features. "Has it ever felt... different?" he asked.

I frowned. "Different how?"

"Like... do some memories feel like they're yours-real-while others feel distant? Detached?"

I let his words sit for a moment, turning them over in my head. "Not exactly," I said finally. "But there are times it's like I'm living the memory. Like when I saw Mai and Cheon Seok..." I trailed off, feeling the heat rise to my face. "Together," I finished awkwardly, staring hard at the table.

Y/n raised a brow. "Together?"

"Yeah, together, I told you they had, had sex. And when I saw it, I could feel her hands on me and stuff." I muttered, avoiding her eyes.

"Wow," she said flatly. "You're not a dream virgin. That makes me jealous."

"Come on!" I groaned, throwing my hands up.

"I don't want to know about your sex life," Jimin muttered under his breath, his expression somewhere between amused and horrified.

"Now you know," I shot back, grinning despite myself.

"Oh, shut up," he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Y/n wasn't done, though. She leaned forward again, steering the conversation back. "So aside from those two moments, nothing else felt... real? Like seeing Hyung's wife die or Aein getting married?"

I shook my head. "Not at all. It's like watching a movie. There's no... connection. It's like ink that doesn't seep in."

Jimin nodded slowly, tapping a finger against the table. "Then it's possible those memories-the ones that feel real-are actually yours."

Y/n's brow furrowed. "But how? How does that happen?"

Jimin leaned back, his tone more serious now. "I don't know for sure. But you've talked about feeling a second presence-Cheon Seok. Maybe somewhere in history, he existed. But the memories that don't feel real... those might not belong to you. Or to him. At least, not in the way we think."

I nodded, the pieces starting to click into place, though the picture they formed still felt distant, hazy.

Y/n's voice softened. "That... makes sense," she murmured.

The room settled into silence, the kind that felt more reflective than uncomfortable. I glanced at Jimin and Y/n, their expressions mirroring the questions swirling in my mind.

"Whatever the truth is," I said finally, breaking the quiet, "we'll figure it out. Together."

Jimin smiled faintly, and Y/n reached out, her fingers brushing mine. "I will have to do some research." Jimin rose up from his chair and I basked in that moment.

It didn't matter how tangled the past was. What mattered was that we weren't untangling it alone.