Heavy cardboard boxes scraped against the sticky linoleum floor of Room 304. Sweat dripped down the side of Park Jimin’s face, catching the bright fluorescent light of his new dorm room. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, careful not to smudge his pristine white athletic jacket. It was his favorite piece of clothing, bought specifically to make a good impression on his first day at Seoul Class University. On the bottom bunk of the metallic bed frame, a figure lay completely motionless under a dark gray blanket. "Are you going to help, or are you planning to play dead all semester?" Jimin asked, letting a playful pout take over his lips. He crossed his arms, leaning his hip against his largest suitcase. Yoongi didn't move for a long three seconds. Slowly, he pulled the blanket down just enough to reveal sharp, cat-like eyes and a head of messy black hair. "Moving is against my personal philosophy," Yoongi mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You have too many things for a sports major. Why do you need three different pairs of identical running shoes?" Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang, rattling the flimsy plastic nameplate on the front. "Did someone say sports major?" Taehyung shouted, stepping into the room with a wide, boxy grin. He wore a ridiculously oversized knit cardigan that looked like it had been knitted by a colorblind grandmother, and he was happily munching on a green apple. Taehyung was Yoongi's longtime friend and a performing arts junior who had volunteered to show Jimin around. Within five minutes of meeting in the courtyard earlier, Taehyung had already declared himself Jimin's honorary soulmate. Jimin laughed, the sound bright and musical. "Tell him, Taehyung. A athlete needs proper gear. Yoongi-hyung thinks I should live out of a single backpack." They had spent the next hour unpacking, with Taehyung mostly offering useless design advice and Yoongi occasionally throwing in cynical remarks from his bunk. Jimin felt a warm sense of relief settling in his chest. "So, dancer," Taehyung said, tossing his apple core into the tiny trash can with perfect accuracy. "Are you ready for the real campus experience? The cafeteria food is tragic, but the people-watching is top-tier." "Actually, I need to find a restroom first," Jimin said, rubbing the back of his neck as his bladder issued a sharp reminder. "The one down the hall is currently undergoing some kind of plumbing disaster." Yoongi rolled his eyes, pointing a pale finger toward the door. "Go to the old arts building next door. The painters are too busy starving to use the facilities, so those restrooms are always empty. Just don't get lost in the corridors. They don't believe in proper lighting over there." Jimin nodded, thanking him with a quick wave before slipping out into the humid afternoon air. --- Acrid fumes of turpentine always made Jeon Jungkook feel like he was choking. Jungkook held his breath, staring at the canvas in front of him. For three days, he had poured his frustration into this piece, creating an intricate, hyper-realistic depiction of a shattered mirror. Every shard was detailed, reflecting tiny, distorted versions of an empty room. Footsteps echoed behind him, slow and deliberate. "Still working on the same piece, Jungkook?" a voice purred. It was Seojun, a wealthy sophomore who had spent the last month trying to corner Jungkook under the guise of buying his art. Seojun leaned closer, his expensive cologne invading Jungkook's personal space. "You know, a talent like yours shouldn't be wasted in a dusty studio. I'm hosting a gathering at my family's villa this weekend. You should come. I could introduce you to some very influential collectors." Jungkook's jaw clenched, a tiny vein pulsing at his temple. He hated the transactional nature of these people. He hated how they looked at him, as if he were a pretty trinket to be bought and displayed. "You're standing in my light," Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy quiet. "Oh, come on," Seojun said, reaching out to touch Jungkook's shoulder. "Don't be like that. I only want to help you. We could be very good for each other." Without a single word, Jungkook grabbed a wide utility brush from his jar. He plunged it deep into a tub of thick, muddy brown acrylic paint. Thick, ugly streaks of brown smeared violently across the center of his pristine canvas, obliterating hours of meticulous work in a single, brutal second. Seojun shrieked, jumping backward as a stray droplet of paint flew near his designer shirt. "What the hell are you doing? You just ruined it! That was worth millions of won!" "Ruined?" Jungkook asked, a cold, practiced smirk spreading across his lips. He turned to face Seojun, his dark eyes entirely vacant. "I think it's much better now. It matches your personality. Muddy. Cheap. Unwanted." Seojun backed away, his face twisting in a mix of offense and genuine fear. "You're insane. You really are a freak, Jeon." "Insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result," Jungkook whispered, stepping forward. "So I suggest you don't ask me out a third time." Once the studio door slammed shut behind Seojun, the smirk vanished from Jungkook's face. He dropped the brush, his hands beginning to tremble. Silence stretched through the empty studio, heavy and suffocating. Jungkook closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing, but his chest felt like it was being squeezed by metal bands. Glancing toward the fire escape door at the back of the studio, his heart stopped. A silhouette stood behind the frosted glass of the door. The posture was unmistakable—tall, broad-shouldered, with a slight, predatory tilt of the head. It looked exactly like Hoseok. Panic hit Jungkook like a physical blow, cold and absolute. His vision blurred at the edges, his throat closing up as memories of whispered threats and painful grips flashed through his mind. Every instinct screamed at him to run. He couldn't let Hoseok find him here. He couldn't let anyone see him break. Clutching his heavy canvas bag in one hand and grabbing a large, heavy glass jar of indelible black calligraphy ink with the other, Jungkook bolted toward the main exit. --- Jimin wandered down the unfamiliar hallway of the arts building, hum-singing a soft melody to himself. The building was quiet, smelling of old paper and dried oil paint. It was a stark contrast to the noisy sports complex he had visited earlier. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Rounding the sharp corner toward the restroom sign, Jimin didn't have time to register the sudden rush of air. A hard, solid chest slammed directly into his own with the force of a runaway freight train. Glass shattered with a sharp, echoing crack as the heavy jar slipped from Jungkook's panicked grip. Dark, indelible black ink exploded in every direction, splashing violently across the front of Jimin's pristine white athletic jacket, soaking through the fabric to his skin. "What the..." Jimin gasped, stumbling backward from the impact and slipping on the wet floor. Jungkook scrambled to find his footing, his chest heaving as he stared down at the person he had just ran over. His dark eyes were wide, blown out with lingering terror, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Something metallic clinked against the concrete, sliding out of Jimin's open jacket pocket and coming to a stop right between Jungkook's feet. Resting on the floor was a vintage silver lighter, its surface scratched with the distinct, hand-engraved initials: 'J.H.' Jungkook's breath hitched, his entire body freezing as he stared at the object that had haunted his nightmares for the last twelve months.

Chapter 1: Paint Splatters and False Alibis