It all started when Jung Hoseok found the true nature of his shadow.

It was in the midst of popping, in the swift and precise sway of his limbs, and in the perfect curve of his movements. In his flooding sweat, aching legs, hectic thump in his chest, gulping noise of his throat. His eyes caught himself in proximity to the studio mirror.

Himself? The one he saw in the mirror was too distant, too strange to be him. It’s the one others see him as, not who he was.

It struck him as odd. He had never seen himself live, had he? Not that he could do it anyway. That stranger he saw in the mirror was some part of him that he was unable to see and know.

Why not introduce, then?

He walked closer to the large mirror. The stranger walked as well. He tilted his head, watching the other following. Catching his breath, he started dancing, eyes on the other pair of eyes.

This was how others see him, he thought. This was the self, the look, the shadow he couldn’t grasp and possess in his eyes. His truest enemy, he thought. His truest enemy, the one who controlled him in the outside world, the one who would always remain separated from him.

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts that were floating to the darker shades, avoiding the sun. He was surely getting exhausted.

But as he went on practising, his eyes would still occasionally caught the eyes in the mirror. His shadow’s eyes. He wished his shadow could look away. He couldn’t know him otherwise.

As he finally regained his focus, fixed the details of his movements here and there, and got the perfect timing to the beat, Hoseok wiped his sweat and picked up his things. He glanced at the mirror; he still saw the same stranger discharging strange impression. Sighing, he stepped closer to the mirror. The stranger looked tired, hair sticking to his forehead, shirt turning darker from sweat, face and neck drenched wet. He knew it was his reflection, but it didn’t sound quite accurate. It was not how he perceive himself, after all. Though no third party was present, that man in the mirror was still the one others perceive him as.

“You’re not me,” he mumbled, half asking, half convincing.

That man was not him at all. He did not reflect his actual thoughts and feelings. He was not Hoseok.

“You’re my shadow.”

A shadow that was controlling everything that had to do with the outside world. A shadow that he could only see through mirrors, cameras, and photos. A shadow meant to be a perfect public image that he ought to be. If Hoseok couldn’t be perfect, couldn’t sustain his smile too long, couldn’t show cheerful disposition all the time, then at least his shadow could do that for him. Mask him.

“You’re J-Hope.”

He saw his shadow smiling. Yes, this was how he should be. That’s J-Hope. His tiredness could be kept in himself. Put away that ugly side, bury it in Jung Hoseok. Feign a smile through J-Hope.

If he kept it in mind all the time, kept himself locked behind the dark side of the mask, let go of himself once he was shoved to the camera, he surely—hopefully—would survive.

There were lots of times, though, when he couldn’t differ, when did he act as himself, when did he put on his mask? And he realized, it was thanks to the members. Thanks to them, he was able to relax. But the shifting would still happen, it had to, especially in his hard times, and he wondered, did the members notice the strange tone of his voice or the little strains on his face? Would they care, or would they fear his duality?

Hoseok was careful. He wouldn’t let out too many slips. He could take care of everything in the mask of his shadow. (Or the shadow of his mask.)

As time fluttered away, week by week, month by month, year by year, Hoseok got much more used to the shifting of himself and his shadow. It was in his reflexes and impulses. It was almost effortless.

Oftentimes as he looked at the mirror, he felt he turned uglier. Even felt nauseated when he got the chance to look at how fake his shadow smile was. He was rotten indeed, always hiding, always pretending. His organs might have turned jet black. As black as his shadow.

At those times, he seeked refuges, because he was human. But not by spilling all the problems and the contained soots. His six friends didn’t deserve his rottenness. They deserved only good things. Thus Hoseok relieved himself by hanging out with them, gave supprotive and encouraging words at practice, massaging, or hugging them sometimes. The younger members became the target of his love, the leader became his talking friend, and the older ones became his caretaker.

There were times when the members seemed to know. There were times when Jin went to him and hugged him randomly, and Hoseok knew it was more than just the older seeking comfort from him. Heck, it was more like Jin was comforting him, it’s okay, don’t push yourself, you did well, extraordinarily well. And then there was Taehyung occasionally coming to sleep in Hoseok’s bed, more like for Hoseok’s sake than his. Then Namjoon would cast him a knowing gaze as they talk, as if he knew Hoseok had something to tell yet kept it hidden because Hoseok never really spoke for himself. Then there was Yoongi who kept backing up his funny acts because he seemed to want Hoseok to truly enjoy everything he did on camera. He even might be telling Hoseok to act his real self—just like Yoongi always did—through that. Jimin might have noticed something in the way Hoseok played around with him too much and often sent worried glances. Jungkook seemed to know in the way Hoseok showed so much affection to him even since their predebut days.

Hoseok was grateful they never asked. He was grateful they were always ready to comply. He couldn’t ask for better companions, really. And he, in return—he would never taint them with his ugliness.

The darkness belonged to him alone.

But the darkness that he thought was under his absolute safe control and comprehension became an unknown depth that emitted putrid things he hadn’t known before and couldn’t come to understand. The shadow he thought he could use as naturally as breathing was bringing its darkness to a different level. His shadow with its pitch blackness came to took his control, tainting and poisoning more of him than his worldly head could expect. His shadow was engulfing him, painting him in dull and ugly shades, spreading it to his veins, his liver, his lungs, his throat, his brain, and as he looked at himself in the mirror, he looked worse, he looked undeniably exuberant, yet his eyes were undeniably dead in unknown void.

There in the mirror, his shadow was smiling. Smiling, smiling, in his face. His face looked merrier than ever, yet unnoticeably a hint paler. He was dying inside, he was decaying, because Hoseok, his true self, was drained of light and life.

He was mad. He wasn’t pleased at all. He felt his chest flaring with his own emotion—his true self’s emotion that gradually turned gloomier because he couldn’t be happy, he hadn’t the chance to be himself. And as his smile, his shadow’s smile, kept getting more luminous and wretched, he knew he was getting a tad more disgusting.

“Stop this all, you rascal!”

Screaming to the mirror, he felt his right cheek and palm burning. He slapped himself, hoping to get himself somewhere. He felt a weight settling inside him, wavy and increasing, weighing him down, and he dropped himself to the floor. To his horror, the face in the mirror was still smiling, though reduced to a nearly straight line.

Hoseok was helpless, completely helpless.

He was miserable. He was unhappy. He wanted to scream and to cry his lungs out. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t, because he kept hiding and this was what he received in return: getting his true self eaten away bit by bit.

He wanted to cry. He had to cry. Otherwise he couldn’t live. Otherwise he couldn’t be himself.

But no matter how hard he tore himself, he was inevitably still hidden somewhere, and he couldn’t find himself. He was an endless maze—he himself created that maze to protect himself, to be able to do well, to be able to make himself and people around him happy and happier.

But how could he be happy if he couldn’t cry his eyes out now? What hope could linger to him?

 

 

 

There was hope, indeed, because nothing was ever completely hopeless, and Jung Hoseok was not even a bad person at all. And whenever there is hope, there is trial. Hoseok just had to go through that trial—that endless expanse of desert at a freezing night—and finally would get to the warm sea with all the light and companions and family.

Hoseok was not alone, and he had hope. With those, he could have salvation.