Chapter Text
Right there, between the soggy egg carton and a half-empty bottle of orange juice, if you push away the unopened almond milk Yoonsung insisted on buying, you will notice a small screw-top jar sitting on the cramped top shelf.
And if you squint your eyes a tiny bit, you might even be able to make out a dark, sort of liquid-like substance, idling behind the discoloured glass.
The jar itself must have been there for months, perhaps even years, unmoving, everlasting, a fixed constant among the other seasonally changing assortment that fill the dorm refrigerator.
And although nobody knows for sure how long exactly it has been there, several whispered conspiracy theories circulate around the dorm - some of which are more serious than others.
Jaeyun thinks they might have purchased the jar along with the refrigerator, but Yoonsung is certain all the shelves had been perfectly empty at its arrival. Kyungmin still believes that the other members are pulling a long-term elaborate prank on him and if you ask Seungheon, it might even very well be a gift from his mother that he‘d put there and has since forgotten about.
What they all do know for sure, however, is that every single one of them would rather die than touch this mysterious, yet established kitchen dweller.
Yungyu even dared to joke that whatever it supposedly was surely must be alive by now, but there was a hint of bitter reality in his voice.
And so the jar has become a permanent component of the dorm‘s fridge, hardly remembered, certainly not even acknowledged anymore.
That is, however, until one fateful morning.
At first, no one noticed. Haemin prepared his daily breakfast sandwich just as usual, not even wasting a single glance - let alone a second thought - on the jar before slamming the fridge door shut with a swing of his hips and it isn’t until Myungho opens it again in the late afternoon, when he suddenly feels a cold shiver running down his back.
"There‘s something…off." He then says to Jaeyun, who is leaning against the kitchen counter and only utters a distracted ‚hmm‘ while he continues tapping on his phone.
Myungho feels his own device vibrate in his front pocket and he doesn’t even have to tear away his gaze, still fixed on the fridge, desperately searching for an answer, when Jaeyun follows up with, "We should do that."
Now Myungho does turn around, a confused expression carved on his face and his elongated silence prompts Jaeyun to actually lift his head and look up at him.
"The TikTok I sent you?" Jayeun asks rather than answers and when he still doesn’t receive a reply, he adds, "It‘s a Halloween thing."
"Right." Myungho says, but his mind is still elsewhere and the sudden realisation hits him like a truck.
"The jar!" He almost yells out loud, before quickly muffling himself by clasping a hand over his mouth and then quietly repeating: "The jar."
"The what now?" Jaeyun asks in the same monotone voice, still blissfully unaware, and it‘s clear he doesn’t really care, but at least he‘s willing to entertain whatever Myungho is rambling on about.
"The jar, Jaeyun. The one jar we have."
"Oh." The other nods. "And what about it?"
"It moved."
"It- it what?" Finally, Myungho is granted his undivided attention and Jaeyun slips his phone into his back pocket, before joining him in front of the impromptu crime scene, squeezing himself between Myungho and the fridge‘s door frame.
There is absolutely no denying it. The jar is indeed moved slightly to the left, and the worn-off label that had once been proudly presented to the poor soul who opened the fridge was now only partly visible anymore. Not that anyone would have been able to read what it says in the first place.
But Jaeyun doesn’t seem to quite grasp the gravity of the situation, and he only shrugs.
"Maybe someone accidentally shoved it back."
Myungho swallows slowly, but before he‘s able to even think of a reply, the kitchen door creaks open and Minho steps in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in the blinding light of the descending sun. Despite the late hour, he is still in the washed-out joggers he calls his pajamas and an oversized, bright pink graphic tee has slipped off one pale shoulder.
Minho drowsily yawns in their faces before he asks: "Why are you guys yelling?"
"I‘m not yelling." Jaeyun truthfully retorts and without missing a single beat, Minho whips around to face the other man.
"You woke me up." His accusing finger finds Myungho, who in response only gives him a blank stare.
"Why were you asleep in the first place?" Jayeun asks dryly, which wins Minho‘s attention back, but the other guy simply shrugs in response, causing the older man to quickly add,
"It‘s not our fault you stayed up the entire night watching TikToks."
"Um, it‘s called marketing research?" Minho feigns innocence, but his words fall on deaf ears as Myungho approaches the still-open fridge once again and a cool breeze of air greets him.
"Do you have anything to do with this?" He nods towards the jar, directing his words at Minho, who furrows his brows in confusion.
"Oh, is it empty already?" The younger man tilts his head. "I don’t drink almond milk, so if Yoonsung asks, it’s Kyungmin‘s fault."
"He‘s talking about the jar." Jaeyun interjects, and unlike him, Minho immediately realises what they must be talking about.
"Ohhh, did someone finally get rid of it?" He flashes a lopsided grin. "It was about time."
But Myungho‘s eyes darken and he slowly shakes his head.
"Worse," He mumbles. "It moved."
"Oh…um…okay?"
Once again, this earth-shattering revelation doesn’t seem to even remotely impress the recipient, and Minho‘s eyes, filled with a mix of amusement and bewilderment, flick across Myungho‘s face searching for an explanation.
"Seriously? This is what this fuss is about?"
"It‘s not a fuss." Myungho insists and he finally closes the fridge door before it turns the kitchen into a new ice age. "You don’t understand. No one touches the jar."
"It‘s like an unspoken rule in this house." Jaeyun now agrees, less because he actually cares and more because he enjoys deliberately adding onto the chaos.
Minho thinks for a second, before he leans back against the dorm frame and cocks his head.
"I doubt any of us touched it. Who knows what kind of primary diseases that thing holds."
"But someone did." Myungho whines, and when he does he can feel the blood rushing to his face. "Someone turned it."
"Well, it is on the top shelf so the only way to do that, without touching it, would be to use the almond milk." Jaeyun contemplates, and he’s only half-joking, when he continues, "That means our suspects are the milk drinkers. Kyungmin, Yoonsung and…Seungheon."
He concludes his theory with a side glance towards Myungho who, by now, is half-heartedly holding onto a kitchen cabinet for stability.
Myungho stares, a second too long maybe, but then he straightens up and struts towards the door, steps filled with newfound determination.
"Woah- wait where are you going?" Minho, who clearly hasn’t finished complaining about being woken at this ungodly hour, immediately quips.
"To investigate." Myungho responds in passing when met by two pairs of sceptical eyes, and then he‘s gone, leaving Minho and Jaeyun behind in the kitchen.
"You really didn’t move it?" Jaeyun asks quietly after several minutes of silence pass by, and Minho blinks.
"No." He sighs. "But now I wonder who did."
When Myungho enters the kitchen again it is already dark outside and the light of the full moon spills in through half-closed blinds, casting blurred streaks across the wooden floor.
With a barely audible ‚click‘ of the light switch, the lamp flickers on and bathes the room in a dull yellow light. The table is set with mismatched plates and cutlery, and as Yoonsung puts down a steaming pot, the scent of roasted vegetables and crispy baked meat fills the air.
When Myungho still doesn’t move, Yoonsung gently nudges him towards his seat, giving him a soft smile, but his forehead is visibly creased with a deep concern and it hasn’t left his face ever since their conversation from hours prior.
And with the rest of the group slowly gathering in the kitchen for dinner, it was only a matter of time before the inevitable was brought up again.
"Any new insights?" Minho inquires as he reaches for the rice bowl, almost knocking over Haemin‘s glass of water and the other shoots him a disapproving look.
Jaeyun can‘t conceal the groan escaping his lips and his voice is stern when he mumbles, "I thought we agreed on not bringing this up again."
"Well this sounds exciting." Yungyu now perks up in interest, but Yoonsung immediately meets his eyes and ever so carefully he shakes his head in a fruitless effort to stop him.
But Yungyu‘s lips are faster and he asks, "Care to share with the class?"
"Myungho thinks someone messed with the jar." Minho happily jumps to explain between two bites and the pained grunt he lets out immediately after suggests that Jaeyun must have kicked his leg from underneath the table.
"I don’t think Minho, I know." Myungho responds as he stares down at his own still empty plate. "And I‘ve already narrowed down our list of suspects."
"Oh, please enlighten us, Sherlock Ji."
"I have spoken to two of the milk drinkers-"
"Milk drinkers?" Haemin interrupts. "Why are we being divided into food categories now?"
"- and both of them have denied any involvement in the case, which means…"
A dramatic pause.
"It was Kyungmin."
The man in question almost chokes on what looks suspiciously close to Yoonsung‘s almond milk and he coughs into his sleeve before meeting Myungho's glare with an astonished expression.
"Me?" Kyungmin croaks, tear-eyed from his near-death experience and he wipes away the milk collecting on his chin with his sleeve.
"Yeah, what do you have to say in your defense?" Minho grins, but Kyungmin remains serious as he simply answers, "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I‘m not entertaining this." Kyungmin pouts, crossing his arms as he casts a suspicious glance across the room.
"Do you think I‘m an idiot? I know you guys are just messing with me."
"Ugh, you still think that‘s a prank?" Haemin quips back. "I told you it‘s not. Don‘t you trust me?"
"No."
"Well, I talked to Yoonsung, and he claims it wasn‘t him either, so if neither you or Seungheon have anything to do with it…" Myungho pauses, and he hopes no one notices how his hands are shivering.
"There‘s only one possibility left."
There’s a tense silence and it takes Myungho a few seconds to gather his courage, before his final revelation.
"We have a ghost."
"Right." Seungheon uncomfortably shifts in his chair and the old wood creaks as it scrapes against the floor. "Okay."
"Don’t you and Yungyu drink milk as well?" Minho challenges with a grin, but Myungho is stern-faced as he replies.
"Only in iced coffee. Have you looked outside recently? Does it look like anyone is having iced coffee in this weather?"
It comes out a lot harsher than intended and the table stills, the others silently staring at him in disbelief.
"I don‘t want to be rude but…" Jaeyun leans over and he places a warm hand on Myungho‘s shoulder, "Have you gotten enough sleep lately?"
"I’m fine." Myungho grits out, but he is not. Not really.
"It‘s been a long day." Yoonsung skillfully averts the attention away from the topic at hand and starts stacking the plates closest to himself on top of each other. "Maybe we should just call it a night."
As the clattering of dishes and the quiet humming of the dishwasher slowly fade away, Myungho finds himself in the bathroom, leaning against the dark wooden cabinet and face to face with Yoonsung, who has made himself comfortable on the edge of the bathtub.
The smell of mint toothpaste stings his eyes and, after rinsing his mouth, he glances at himself in the mirror above the sink. Brown eyes stare back, earnest and a little pensive, with shadowy circles beneath them, contrasting against his unusually pale face.
In the outer corner of the reflection, he can make out Yoonsung's face, watching him silently.
"I’m sorry about today." He says to Yoonsung, or maybe even himself.
"I’ve just been sort of out of it I guess."
"It’s okay." A soft voice answers, and then, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"I really am fine."
"Alright." He doesn’t believe a single word, and there’s nothing Myungho can say to convince him. "We should go to bed now. You‘ll feel better in the morning."
He is not alone. That’s the first thing Myungho notices when his eyes fall open and he’s greeted by only pitch black emptiness. An eerie silence fills the bedroom, no rain tapping against the covered windows, no electric humming of the air conditioner, not even Yoonsung‘s familiar rhythmic breathing ringing down from the top bunk and Myungho blinks slowly, trying to recall what might have woken him.
The bed lets out a harrowing groan as he slowly sits up, and props his upper body on his elbows. In the all-consuming quiet, the sound of blood pulsating in his ears appears unbearably loud, almost deafening, and a sharp pain creeps up his spine and settles just below his neck.
But then, there it is again. The unmistakable creak of the floorboards, right in front of the door, the ones they usually try to avoid in order not to wake the other from his peaceful slumber. Someone’s careful footsteps creeping through the dead of night.
"Yoonsung?" He whispers into the dark and the steps halt, yet he receives no answer.
For a moment, the night returns to blissful emptiness and in these crucial heartbeats, Myungho questions if he ever heard anything at all or whether it was just his own imagination playing a cruel trick on him. He lets himself fall backwards and the hard mattress responds with a soft ‘oof’.
Despite the lump forming in his throat, Myungho forces his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to return to unconsciousness. But then the sound reappears, closer now, growing louder with every passing second as it approaches.
When he is suddenly overcome with an almost overwhelming sense of unease, Myungho blindly reaches for his phone, but all he can feel is the cold, flat surface of his bedside table.
He blinks and when his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, a silhouette clearly contrasts against the hazy background as it towers over the bed, so close that if Myungho tried to stretch out his hand, he’d be able to reach it with the tips of his fingers.
It’s tall, too tall, and it’s definitely not Yoonsung.
Heart racing in his chest, Myungho urges himself to move, but his limbs have become unresponsive and heavy and unable to even close his eyes, he finds himself prisoner within his own body, rendering him utterly defenseless. His jaw hangs open in a silent scream, slack and twisted into a distorted grimace but no matter how hard he tries to speak, the sore tightness in his throat refuses to let out a single sound.
Panic settles in, when the creature leans down ever so slowly, and in a last desperate attempt he presses his back deeper against the hard mattress, praying for it to swallow him whole.
The creature is much closer now, hovering right above his face, but even like this it appears blurry, with fuzzy edges around its elongated frame. There’s a pungent odor wavering around it and Myungho’s stomach churns.
In place of a face, the creature reveals a gaping hole and, much to Myungho’s horror, a thick slimy substance oozes out of the opening. Almost gently, it drips down onto his chin, until it leaks onto his chest, where it collects into a small puddle.
The foul stench is excruciating and it feels like hours until he finally loses consciousness again.
When he comes back to his senses, it’s almost like an electric shock jolts through his body, and Myungho bolts upright, the frame of the scrawny bunk bed rattling and wobbling under his weight.
The bedroom is bright and gleaming in the golden light of the rising sun, with the slightly opened window letting in a soft morning breeze.
He’s alone, and all that remains of the night is a terrifying memory, and his own heart still painfully pounding against his rib cage. The sheets are damp, soaked with sweat and his own spit, that leaves a trail from his mouth, across his jaw and down onto his chest.
He brushes against the wet spot on his torso with his thumb, and before Myungho can stop them, hot tears come streaming down his face and a violent sob escapes his lips.
He curls into himself, a desperate attempt to both muffle and soothe himself, clutching his shaking chest tightly until the sickness bubbles up from deep within. Stumbling like a newborn fawn, he rushes into the bathroom, and throws up into the sink before collapsing in the shower with a breathless whimper.
Somehow, he is able to muster enough strength to turn the handle, and flinches when a steaming downpour crashes down onto him. Shaking hands pry the fully drenched clothes off his shivering body and he weakly throws them over the shower railing. For what feels like an eternity he sits there, watching the water pearl off his legs.
When Myungho actually gets up and finishes his shower, it’s almost like he can still feel the slick wetness on his body and he scrubs the spot until his skin blooms bright red and the scorching hot water starts to burn his shoulders.
Myungho doesn’t tell anyone about his dream. Maybe out of sheer embarrassment. Perhaps even out of the fear, that speaking it into existence would make it more real.
If it was only a dream, something tied to his own imagination, then that’s where it could remain until it entirely disappeared into a dark corner of his mind.
A high-pitched scream pierces through the peaceful morning.
Almost instantly, the old wooden door to the living room is thrown open and Yoonsung barges in, eyes-blown wide, Jaeyun and Haemin following closely behind him and they almost crash into his backside when he comes to a complete stop in the doorframe. Alarmed by the commotion, the rest of the group quickly gathers as well, all sleepy-eyed and entirely confused.
"Who the hell put that there?" Myungho demands to know before anyone can ask what’s going on, brows furrowed deeply, and hands defensively buried in his pockets. Damp hair clings to his forehead and stray droplets of water roll down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
He‘s not angry, not yet, but there‘s a threatening edge to his voice that makes Haemin decidedly bite back an offhanded comment.
Instead his eyes drift towards the small coffee table in front of the couch, the one they never bothered to get rid off, even though no one was using it anyways and its only purpose was to serve as a tripping hazard and, sometimes, a foot rest.
Surprising, however, is the fact that the table is not entirely empty as it usually is, but instead there is a tiny screw-top jar sitting right in its center.
The lid is slightly open and an undefinable thick substance runs down along the edge of the glass and spills over the worn-out wood, glistening in the early sun.
"Ew, what even is that?"
Minho covers his nose with his sleeve as a rotting stench spreads through the small room.
Myungho just stands there, in the far corner of the living room next to the large balcony window, frozen and with an expression carved from granite. The all too familiar smell sends a shiver through his spine and subconsciously, he reaches for where the liquid had touched his skin. There is a tingling sensation beneath his fingers, as the faint hope of being able to repress the events of the night fades away.
His eyes dart from face to face, every person in the room suddenly turning from friend to a potential suspect in this vicious attack against his psychological well-being, that’s trapping him in this nightmare-turned-reality.
Unaware of the other’s inner turmoil, Yungyu takes a careful step towards the table, but he immediately gags.
"That’s actually disgusting." He lets his gaze wander around the room. "Who would put that there?"
Haemin shrugs his shoulders, a mischievous smile darting across his lips, but it disappears almost instantly as he straightens up and meets Myungho’s stern glare.
"Must have been the wind." He replies grimly. "Or Casper the friendly ghost."
"Look." Jaeyun huffs. "This is not funny and it’s obviously upsetting him." He not-so-subtly nods towards Myungho.
"IT’S A JAR."
"And it’s absolutely repugnant." Seungheon chips in. "And possibly a health hazard."
Jaeyun fails to conceal his eye roll and promptly picks up the jar with his bare hand, causing Minho to yelp in disgust, and he disappears into the kitchen, where he loudly drops it into the trash can underneath the sink.
"And now it’s gone." He retorts dryly when he returns.
Relieved, Myungho feels the pressure on his chest finally ease, and he takes a deep shaky breath.
It is fine now. Everything is fine.
"I think I might be going insane." Myungho confesses to Yoonsung, when the other corners him before he has the chance to flee the living room.
"You mean because of yesterday?" Yoonsung hums, as he flops down onto the couch, but he can’t hide the concern growing on his face.
"Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too seriously?"
Myungho doesn't answer, but he sits down next to him, close enough for their legs to touch. The warmth of another body is oddly comforting and Myungho lets his head roll back against the backrest. He’s utterly exhausted, but even the sheer thought of sleep makes his stomach turn.
"Is there something else going on?" Yoonsung probes again after they sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.
"I…" Myungho swallows his worry and forces a smile on his lips. "I think it’s just the stress…"
Yoonsung, entirely unconvinced but at the very least attempting to lighten the mood, playfully bumps against Myungho’s shoulder with his own.
"Well, you should cheer up! It’s almost Halloween."
Myungho snorts as he stares down at his hands.
"Yeah, I know. I-"
But when he looks back up, Yoonsung is no longer facing him. Instead, his gaze is suddenly locked on one of the framed pictures atop the TV cabinet.
"That’s…strange."
He mumbles, more to himself and Myungho’s stomach drops.
"What?"
Yoonsung turns back to him, eyebrows scrunched in genuine confusion. Then he points.
"Weren’t you in these pictures?"
Curiosity piqued, Myungho now slowly lifts himself up and walks over, and he runs his finger over a dusty picture frame.
"No, I- I definitely was."
It’s an old group picture, one of their early debut days - or at least it would have been weren’t it for an empty, human-shaped spot where Myungho had been standing. Seven frozen smiles stare back at him, but Myungho can only gawk at the void space right there between Jaeyun and Yungyu.
He sets the picture aside with deliberate care and grabs another one of the shelves, but in every single one, he has been carefully removed with seemingly practiced precision.
Erased, almost as if he had never existed.
The door handle slams against the wall with a dull thud when Myungho yanks open the door, and the loud noise startles Kyungmin, who is cozied up with a book on the top bunk.
Haemin, who is sitting on his own bed, his laptop on his knees, slowly raises his head.
"Good morning to you, too." He sneers at the two intruders. "Have you people ever heard of knocking?"
Myungho, however, isn't in the mood for his antics.
"What the fuck, Haemin?" He snaps at him and his voice cracks a tiny bit.
"What?" Haemin now claps his laptop shut and glances up at them with a disgruntled look. "You’re the ones barging in here like the FBI is hot on your heels. What happened now? Is the ham in the freezer not placed at the correct angle?"
"Oh, shut up." Myungho replies before he can stop himself, and the sharp tone of his voice makes Haemin flinch.
"What the hell did I do to you?" The younger spits out defensively and his eyes quickly dart across Myungho’s face looking for answers, but the other’s expression remains unreadable.
"That’s what I want to know."
"What?"
Instead of answering, Myungo simply throws one of the manipulated photo frames at him and Haemin follows it with his eyes as it lands on his pillow. He sighs, but he complies with the unspoken command and picks it up, turning it over in his hand.
"A… picture?"
Myungho rolls his eyes. "Don’t play dumb."
"Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about."
Cautiously, Kyungmin peeks down at them from the top bunk with a nervous smile, book discarded somewhere among blankets and pillows.
"Someone removed Myungho from all the pictures." Yoonsung, who until now had stood quietly next to the door, helpfully inserts himself into the conversation.
Haemin blinks. Once. Twice.
"Wow…" He breathes out in disbelief.
"So you really think I would dig up old photos, manually photoshop Myungho out of them, have them professionally printed and then swap them with the original in every single frame?"
"…"
"Well, I didn’t, alright?!"
Myungho doesn't know what comes over him, but heat rises to his face and he can't stop himself from nearly exploding, releasing the anger and frustration that have built up over the past few hours.
"Who else would it be?" He hisses harshly. "Do you really think I missed your smug face this morning?"
Haemin just scoffs.
"You know where you can shove your fucking accusations?"
"Alright!" Yoonsung decidedly steps in and before the others can say another word he grabs Myungho by the shoulders and swiftly steers him out into the hallway.
"Go fuck yourself!" Haemin yells after them. Then the door slams shut.
The floorboards creak underneath their feet as they make it back into their own room, and only then Yoonsung, who still hasn’t let go of Myungho, finally releases him, almost as if dealing with a feral animal.
"That went about as well as expected." He mutters, watching Myungho rub his aching shoulders, as the other paces around the room.
"Would Haemin deliberately mess with me about something like this?" He says, more to himself, before immediately answering his own question.
"Yes. But would he attempt to drive me insane over a simple glass jar?"
He glances over at Yoonsung, who looks like he is regretting being part of this in the first place, before he continues.
"Probably also yes."
Myungho sighs and the bed frame creaks weakly when he plops down.
"But he wouldn’t be lying about it."
"Great. Thank you for this insight." Yoonsung responds dryly from where he stands, back pressed against the door, and he runs a hand through his hair.
"Can you perhaps let me in on your plans next time before you drag me into something like this?"
He then adds, voice laced with remorse and a generous dose of self-doubt.
"I’m sorry." Myungho says earnestly. "I was just-"
"Look, I get it." Yoonsung interrupts him. "It’s shitty."
He pushes himself away from the door and strolls over to his desk, where he slumps into his chair.
"But picking fights like that? Especially out of nowhere? This isn’t you."
"I- I don’t know, okay!" Myungho’s heart feels heavy against his chest, the pent-up anger he felt earlier having faded into somber frustration.
Yoonsung looks like he wants to say something else, but before he can open his mouth Myungho rushes past him and escapes through the door, disappearing into the hallway again.
Somehow, Myungho manages to avoid Yoonsung and Haemin for the rest of the day, which is honestly a lot easier than expected. Mainly, because Haemin isn’t speaking to him and promptly leaves the room any time Myungho enters, and Yoonsung just looks mere seconds away from sticking him into a mental institution. Kyungmin must have tattled to the others about what went down, because even Jaeyun and Seungheon have started treading on eggshells around him.
As the day finally draws to a close and the sun pulls beyond the horizon, Myungho feels the nausea bubbling up in his stomach again. And although he dreads going to sleep, he still forces himself to lie down hours before Yoonsung's usual bedtime, because then at least he could avoid having to look him in the eyes.
When he wakes up in the middle of the night yet again, Myungho decides he’d rather take his chances on foot and even though he’s trembling, he manages to stagger out of bed.
Getting on his tiptoes, he carefully peeks into Yoonsung's bed, fully expecting to find the other peacefully asleep, but to his surprise, it is cold and empty. Confused, Myungho looks around the room, but everything is pitch black and uncannily silent.
The door is slightly ajar, and without any other viable options left, he sneaks out into the hallway.
As he steps out, Myungho almost immediately slips on a sleek substance beneath his feet and he can only barely stop his fall by blindly holding onto a bookshelf. Instead of grabbing onto the familiar timber, however, he sinks his hand deep into a thick, reeking substance that seems to fully cover the furniture.
The noise he makes is loud enough to wake the entire dorm and after he frantically wipes his fingers on his tank top, he stills, listening for movement. But there’s no one coming.
The floor is wet and sticky and the smell of decay seems to seep out from beneath the hardwood planks and Myungho pulls his top over his nose to muffle the stench.
Accompanied by only the sound of his own breathing and squelching wet footsteps, he makes his way through the dorm, and as he cautiously pokes his head into Seungheon and Yungyu’s room, he finds their beds also deserted and coated in the same exact liquid that by now is reaching up to his ankles.
When he wanders into the living room, there’s an old friend waiting for him, right in the center of the small wooden table. The tiny screw-jar gleams in the light of the full moon, almost like it’s mocking him and this time, it’s missing its lid entirely.
What’s even worse, though, is that it appears to be completely empty.
It almost was as if the contents of the glass had spread throughout the entire house and were in the process of consuming it whole.
Myungho’s eyes wander along the slick walls and goo-covered couch, over to the TV cabinet until they come to rest on the framed pictures. For a split moment he hesitates, but then he reaches out and runs his thumb over the cold glass. He pauses.
A past him stares back with a frozen smile.
Around him, seven human-shaped empty spots.
A small noise behind his back causes him to whip around and he barely catches thick dark droplets dripping in through the walls, collecting on the floor and slowly, they begin to slush their way towards him. Gasping for air he flinches backwards, involuntarily bumping into the small wooden table and he helplessly flails his arms as he takes down with him in a loud crash.
The floor is cold and wet and the petrifying smell is absolutely everywhere, but it is overshadowed by the throbbing pain shooting through his temple.
"Myungho?" A sudden voice startles him and he weakly lifts his head.
The light clicks on and for a split second he’s blinded by a bright white flash.
When his eyes adjust and he wipes the tears from his cheek, the dorm looks oddly… ordinary.
The floor is spotless, almost pristinely clean, the walls are the same dull concrete white and no glass jar had accompanied his fall over the table. A subtle glance to the left lets him know that the picture frames had returned to their previous state - seven eternally captured smiles, seven young men grinning down at the heap of misery Myungho is as he is sprawled out on the living room carpet.
"What are you doing?" Seungheon asks grudgingly as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"I-" Myungho starts but there is no way he can explain what had just happened to him.
"You came into our room-" Seungheon continues, offering one hand to Myungho. "I thought something was wrong."
"But…you were- nevermind." Myungho sighs as he is pulled back to his feet. "I’m sorry for waking you."
He doesn’t fall asleep again that night.