Chapter 7 - { Your Very Own Mirror}

There was a long silence. The room felt even colder now, the air thick with unspoken words. "I'll make sure you never see daylight again," Soo-jin said, trying to sound resolute, but even he didn't believe it. "You'll see me again," Carlos replied softly, locking eyes with him. "Because, in the end, you won't be able to let me go." Soo-jin stood abruptly, slamming his hand on the table. "You're sick." But even as he walked away, his heart pounded in his chest. Was he sick? Or was this just the beginning of something worse? This scene reinforces the psychological manipulation Carlos is weaving around Soo-jin. Soo-jin is trying to fight it, but with every visit, he's starting to crack. Soo-jin hadn't moved yet. His hand still rested on the table where it had slammed down. His breath was shallow. Carlos's eyes dropped to his fingers, then slowly traced their way up Soo-jin's arm… to his throat… and finally, locked on his face. "You're angry," Carlos said, voice smooth, low. "But your body always tells the truth before your mouth does." Soo-jin didn't answer. Couldn't. Because he knew it was true his pulse was racing, skin too warm, mouth too dry. Carlos leaned in, close enough that even with the glass and table between them, it felt intimate. "Every time I look at you, I wonder…" he murmured. "How it would feel to touch you without lies between us." Soo-jin's throat tightened. "There are only lies. That's all you are." "Then why do you dream of me?" Soo-jin's eyes snapped to him. Carlos smiled softly. Almost sadly. "I didn't mean to be your weakness. I was trying to be your mirror." "Shut up." "But you're beautiful when you hate me," Carlos whispered. "Even more when you're unsure. Especially then." Soo-jin stepped closer. His hand curled into a fist on the table, knuckles white. "You don't know me." "I know what makes your voice catch. I know where your walls begin to crack. I know that when I kissed you..." He leaned even closer. "You didn't want it to end." The air between them pulsed. Soo-jin's heart pounded, each beat like a scream in his chest. His next words came out quieter. "You murdered someone." "I fell in love first," Carlos said it without hesitation. "Everything after that was just survival." Soo-jin stared at him. And for one awful second he believed him. He took a step back, heart thundering, breath shaking. Carlos didn't chase him. Just watched with a tilted smile. "You'll be back." Soo-jin turned sharply and left, not daring to look back. But even with the steel door clanging shut behind him…he felt the ghost of that voice clinging to his skin. The lights were out. The cell was quiet. But in Carlos's mind, Soo-jin's voice still echoed. "You don't know me." He smiled in the dark. Because he did. He knew Soo-jin's expressions better than the guards who watched him daily. He knew how his breath hitched when he was cornered, how his hands twitched when he was lying, how his eyes flicked just barely when desire snuck in beneath denial. Carlos lay back on the stiff mattress, staring at the ceiling like it held stars. He could still see Soo-jin standing there, angry and flustered, all sharp lines and soft lips. "You didn't want it to end." It hadn't been a guess. It had been the truth. He had felt it raw and electric like two wires finally crossing. He tilted his head toward the faint moonlight leaking through the barred window. "You came back to me," he whispered. He pressed two fingers to his lips, remembering the kiss in the dream. It wasn't just a fantasy. It was a promise. A thread between them, pulled tighter with every visit. With every fight. With every stolen glance. With every lie they both told. "You're scared of loving me," Carlos murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "But I'll make it easier. One day, you won't have to fight anymore." He reached beneath his mattress, pulling out a small folded scrap of paper. On it: a rough sketch of Soo-jin's face soft pencil strokes capturing every detail. Eyes slightly downcast, mouth parted, lost in thought. Carlos brushed a thumb over the sketch. "You looked beautiful today." His voice was gentle. Reverent. "But you'll be even more beautiful when you stop pretending."