. .

INTRODUCING

MAIN LEADS OF "THE GILDED FRAME"

Kim Taehyung (23): A final-year Art History student. He has a "soft" reputation—likes oversized sweaters, vintage film cameras, and quiet corners. He’s observant but tends to overthink, especially regarding his childhood friend, Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook (22): A Physical Education major and a star on the university swim team. He is loud, competitive, and protective. He treats Taehyung like his entire world, but he’s terrified that if he confesses, he’ll lose the only person who truly knows him.

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Let's the story begins

The hum of the university library was the only thing keeping Taehyung awake. It was that specific time of the afternoon—4:30 PM—when the sun turned a dusty orange and stretched across the wooden carrels. ​Taehyung sighed, leaning his chin on his palm. He was supposed to be finishing his paper on Colonial Era Architecture, but his eyes kept drifting to the boy sitting across from him. ​Jungkook was asleep. Not a graceful, "movie-style" sleep, but a deep, chin-on-chest slump. He had his black hoodie pulled up, a stray lock of dark hair falling over his closed eyes. His physics textbook served as a very expensive pillow.

He waited. One minute. Two.

Across the table, Jungkook’s hand twitched. He let out a soft huff, his eyes blinking open slowly. He looked confused for a second, disoriented by the light, until his gaze landed on Taehyung. A sleepy, lopsided grin spread across his face.

Taehyung glanced toward the front of the library. Min Yoongi (25), the graduate assistant in charge of the archives, was already beginning to dim the overhead lights. Yoongi was a man of few words and even fewer smiles. He had a way of looking at Taehyung that always felt a bit too heavy, like he wanted to warn him about something but forgot the words. ​As Taehyung stood up to stretch, he noticed a small, yellowed slip of paper tucked into the spine of his own textbook—one he hadn’t put there.

​“The shadow follows the light. 1926.”

He frowned, pulling the paper out. The handwriting was elegant, written in fountain pen ink that had faded to a rusty brown.

Jungkook asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep as he slung his gym bag over his shoulder.

Taehyung murmured, shoving the slip into his pocket

Jungkook teased, ruffling Taehyung’s hair as they walked toward the exit.

They walked past the checkout desk. Yoongi didn't look up from his computer, but as the security gates beeped behind them, his voice trailed after them.

Taehyung stopped, turning back.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered to the pocket where Taehyung had hidden the paper. For a split second, the librarian’s face looked pale, almost translucent under the flickering fluorescent light.

Yoongi said, his voice flat.

Jungkook laughed, pulling Taehyung toward the glass doors.

Taehyung nodded, letting Jungkook lead the way. But as they stepped out into the chilly autumn air, he felt a strange prickle on the back of his neck. He looked back at the library window.

​For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing right behind where he had been sitting. A man in a dark, high-collared suit that looked nothing like modern clothes. ​When he blinked, the figure was gone.

. .

​The neon sign of "Golden Skewers" flickered, casting a rhythmic red glow over the wet pavement. Inside, the air was thick with the comforting smell of grilled lamb and charcoal smoke. It was the kind of place where the wooden tables were permanently sticky, and the ahjumma in the kitchen always gave Jungkook extra servings because he called her "noona." ​Taehyung sat across from Jungkook, his fingers tracing the rim of a water glass. He hadn't told Jungkook about the man he see. He didn't want to sound crazy.

Jungkook said, biting into a skewer.

Jungkook reached across the table, his thumb hovering just inches from Taehyung’s forehead before he pulled back, clearing his throat.

Taehyung pulled the yellowed slip out and laid it on the table. In the warm light of the restaurant, the ink looked almost like dried blood. “The shadow follows the light. 1926.”

Jungkook muttered, though his eyes lingered on the elegant script.

​At that moment, the door chimed. Jung Hoseok (23), a dance major with a smile that usually lit up the room, stumbled in. He looked uncharacteristically pale, his yellow raincoat dripping puddles onto the floor.

Hoseok panted, sliding into the booth next to Taehyung.

Jungkook joked, though his posture stiffened.

Hoseok whispered, leaning in.

Taehyung felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Hoseok continued, his voice trembling.

Jungkook stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. He lunged for the window, peering out into the dark, rainy street.

Jungkook said, his voice hard.

​But when Taehyung looked down at the table, his heart stopped. The yellow slip of paper was gone. In its place was a single, fresh white lily—a flower that wasn't there ten seconds ago.

. .

TBC

The red light of the darkroom tray cast a heavy, crimson glow over Taehyung’s small bathroom. Outside, the rain had turned into a thunderstorm, the thunder vibrating the thin walls of his studio apartment. ​On his phone, propped up on the sink, Jungkook’s face was visible via video call. He was lying in his dorm bed, looking tired but refusing to hang up.

Taehyung whispered, his hands steadying as he moved a piece of photographic paper into the chemical bath.

Jungkook replied, his voice raspy.

Taehyung turned his attention back to the tray. A dark shape was beginning to form on the paper. It was the photo he had taken earlier in the day—a candid shot of the library window. ​As the image sharpened, Taehyung’s breath hitched. In the reflection of the glass, he could see himself and Jungkook. But standing directly behind Taehyung, with a pale hand resting firmly on his shoulder, was a tall figure. The man wore a 1920s high-collared suit. On his sleeve was a silver cufflink—a lotus flower.

Taehyung choked out, holding the wet photo up to the camera lens.

Jungkook leaned in, his eyes narrowing. Suddenly, his face went deathly pale.

Taehyung slowly turned his head. The bathroom was empty. But on his gray hoodie, a dark, damp handprint was slowly blooming, as if water was seeping through the fabric from an invisible palm. ​From the main room of the apartment, a loud, heavy THUD echoed. The closet door, which Taehyung always kept shut, slowly creaked open.

Jungkook screamed through the phone.

But Taehyung couldn't move. From the darkness of the closet, a faint smell of lilies and old, rotting paper began to fill the room.

. .

TBC