Introduction
Min Seo-jun — The Keeper of Forgotten Stories
> Age: 27
Occupation: Archivist / Museum Restoration Specialist
Vibe: Poetic, soft-spoken, observant — like a living ghost
Aesthetic: Long beige trench coat, thin silver-rimmed glasses, ink-stained fingers, voice like a lullaby
Past Life: Unknown… for now
Jungkook's pov
The moonlight slipped through the curtains like a gentle ghost, casting silver shadows across my bedroom floor. I lay awake, heart pounding, the echo of the dream still ringing in my ears.
It had felt so real.
His voice.
His touch.
The scent of smoke and saltwater.
But what haunted me most was the expression in his eyes — sorrowful, like he'd already lost me once and wasn't sure if he'd ever find me again.
---
"You left me behind, Captain Jeon."
---
I sat up with a gasp, sweat dampening the collar of my shirt. The pendant around my neck — the strange moonstone I'd worn since childhood — pulsed with warmth, as if stirred by the dream.
What the hell was happening to me?
---
By the time I reached the museum that morning, I felt like I was walking through a dream. The air was thick, the corridors of the historical wing colder than usual. My footsteps echoed against the marble floors.
And there it was again — the letter.
Still sitting behind the glass display, untouched, yet somehow… alive. My eyes locked onto the handwriting, and once again, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest.
> "To the one I will find again…"
"Looking for ghosts, Mr. Jeon?"
I turned sharply.
A man stood there, dressed in a deep brown coat, silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His features were soft but intelligent, and he held a leather notebook pressed to his chest.
"Sorry—do I know you?"
He smiled. "Not yet. Min Seo-jun. Archivist. I'm usually in the restricted wing. But I've been following your research... or more accurately, your questions."
I raised an eyebrow. "And?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
> "You keep dreaming about a man you don't remember. You stare at a letter written over a century ago. And you wear a moonstone said to have belonged to a captain who vanished in 1910. I'd say... you're not just curious, Mr. Jeon. You're remembering."
My heart skipped a beat. "You sound insane."
"And yet," he said gently, "you're listening."
---
That same day, I saw him again.
Taehyung.
Dark coat. Black gloves. A presence that made the entire hallway go silent.
He didn't look at me at first — just stood there in front of the letter display, his fingers tapping against the glass, slow and steady, like a ticking clock.
I should have walked away. But something held me there. An invisible string, pulling tight between us.
Finally, his gaze met mine.
Cold. Calculated.
And still… beneath it all, shattered.
"You keep following me," he said.
"You keep showing up where I am."
He gave a humorless laugh. "Maybe we're cursed."
"Or connected," I said, before I could stop myself.
His jaw tightened. "I don't believe in fate."
"Then why do you look at me like you've lost something?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned away and walked down the hall, leaving only silence in his place.
---
Later that night, I found a letter slipped under my apartment door.
No return address. Just my name, written in looping script.
Inside was a copy of the exact same letter from the museum — only this one wasn't burned. It was whole. Fresh. And it was signed.
> Forever yours,
— K.T.
My breath hitched. I clutched the paper to my chest, eyes burning.
Who sent this? Why now?
And how did they know?
---
Taehyung's POV
I stared at the black-and-white photo on my desk — two figures in military uniform, standing side by side.
The one on the left wore a crooked smile and had a familiar mole beneath his bottom lip. The other… wore my face.
No one else saw it. But I knew.
The memories came in flashes — foggy, disjointed.
A burning letter.
A whispered name.
A kiss never given.
---
That night, I visited the museum long after closing hours. The guards nodded at me — I paid enough donations to have keys to the entire building.
In the archive wing, I found Seo-jun.
He didn't even look surprised to see me.
"I thought you didn't believe in reincarnation," he said.
I ignored the comment and walked to the glass cabinet. Inside, the moonstone. My name. My handwriting.
"Why did you send him the letter?"
Seo-jun tilted his head. "Because he deserves to know the truth. He was always the one who believed in promises. Even back then."
"And me?"
"You…" He smiled faintly. "You always tried to protect him. Even if it meant forgetting who you were."
---
Later, in the stillness of my penthouse, I sat by the window, fingers tracing the faint burn scar on my wrist — one I didn't remember getting.
But in the dream, it was always there.
From the night I pulled him out of the fire.
The night I thought I lost him.
And now he was back.
Jeon Jungkook.
The name tasted like ash and honey in my mouth.
---
To be continued..