It is not a good night.

The trapdoor to the attic is in the closet I share with my sister. After I text Jungkook goodnight, I climb the three shelves—which are bursting with fabric—and push upward with my fingertips until it shifts left. I glance back over my shoulder and see that Chaeyeon hasn’t looked up from her phone. This must be normal—me climbing into the attic, leaving her behind. I want to ask if she’ll come with me, but it was exhausting just to get her to come to dinner. Another time, I think. I’ll figure out how to fix things between us.

I don’t know why, but as I hoist myself through the hole and into an even smaller space, I picture Jungkook’s face; the tan, smooth skin. His full lips. How many times had I tasted his mouth and yet I can’t remember a single kiss.

The air is warm and stuffy. I crawl on my knees to a pile of pillows and press my back to them, straightening my legs out in front of me. There’s a flashlight standing atop a pile of books. I click it on, examining their spines; stories I know, but don’t remember reading. How odd to be made of flesh, balanced on bone, and filled with a soul you’ve never met.

I pick up her books one by one and read the first page of each. I want to know who she is—who I am. When I’ve exhausted the pile, I find a larger book at the bottom, bound in creased red leather. My immediate thought is that I’ve found a journal. My hands shake as I fold open the pages.

Not a journal. A scrapbook. Letters from Jungkook.

I know this because he signs each one with a sharp J. And I know I like his handwriting, direct and distinct. Paper-clipped to the top of each note is a photo—presumably one that Jungkook has taken. I read one note after another, pouring over words. Love letters. Jungkook is in love.

It’s beautiful.

He likes to imagine a life with me. In one letter, written on the back of a brown paper sack, he details the way we will spend Christmas when we have our own place: spiked apple cider by the Christmas tree, raw cookie dough that we eat before we get the chance to bake it. He tells me he wants to make love to me with only candles lighting the room so that he can see my body glow in the candle light. The photo paper clipped to the note is of a tiny Christmas tree that looks like it’s in his bedroom. We must have set it up together.

I find another written on the back of a receipt in which he details what it feels like to be inside of me. My face grows warm as I read the note over and over, reveling in his lust. The photo paper clipped to this one is of my bare shoulder. His photos pack a punch—just like his words. They take my breath, and I’m not sure if the part of me I can’t remember is in love with him. I feel only curiosity toward the dark-haired boy who looks at me so earnestly.

I set the note aside, feeling like I’m snooping on someone else’s life, and close the book. This belonged to Yein. I’m not her. I fall asleep surrounded by Jungkook’s words, the sprinkling of letters and sentences swirling around in my head until…

A girl drops to her knees in front of me. “Listen to me,” she whispers. “We don’t have much time…”

But I don’t listen to her. I push her away and then she’s gone. I am standing outside. There is a fire burning from an old metal trash can. I rub my hands together to get warm. From somewhere behind me I can hear a saxophone playing, but the sound morphs into a scream. That’s when I run. I run through the fire that was in the trash can, but now it is everywhere, the buildings along the street.. I run, choking on smoke until I see one pink-faced storefront that is free of flame and smoke, though everything around it burns. It is a shop of curiosities. I open the door without thought because it is the only place safe from the flames. Jungkook is there waiting for me. He leads me past bones and books and bottles and takes me to a back room. A woman sits on a throne made of broken mirror, staring down at me with a thin smile on her lips. The pieces of mirror reflect slices of light across the walls where they jiggle and dance. I turn to look at Jungkook, to ask him where we are, but he’s gone. “Hurry!”

I wake with a start.

Chaeyeon is leaning through the slat of space in the closet roof, shaking my foot. “You have to get up,” she says. “You don’t have any more skip days left.”

I am still in the dank attic space. I wipe