Entelechy (BTS X Suicidal Male Reader/OC)

Flashing memories

Hwan-chul sat in the small, dimly lit room with his back against the cold leather of the chair, eyes unfocused as they wandered across the sterile walls. Across from him sat his therapist, Dr. Ji-ae, a woman in her late thirties with warm brown eyes and a steady, calm demeanor that had always made him feel at ease. Today, however, he found it harder to stay composed. His thoughts were like fractured glass—sharp and scattered, impossible to piece together coherently.

"I saw him again," Hwan-chul muttered, breaking the silence that had hung thick in the room.

"Who?" Dr. Ji-ae asked softly, leaning forward slightly. Her pen hovered over her notebook, but she kept her gaze fixed on him, as if waiting for the words to spill from his mouth.

"The man… Jin. From BTS," Hwan-chul said, his voice strained as if saying the name cost him more than just a memory. "He looked at me like he knew me, but I don’t remember him. It felt like—" He paused, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists, "—like I should know him, like there’s something important about him that I can’t grasp."

Dr. Ji-ae nodded gently, her eyes not betraying any hint of surprise, though she had expected this to come up sooner or later. "And how did you feel when you saw him?"

"Confused," Hwan-chul said. "But also… guilty. Like I’ve done something, or maybe… I was supposed to help him in some way." He let out a frustrated sigh. "But I don’t know why. It’s just this emptiness, this black hole where my memories should be."

Dr. Ji-ae scribbled a few notes in her notebook before speaking again. "Hwan-chul, the dreams you’ve mentioned before—do you think they’re connected to this feeling of guilt?"

Hwan-chul’s eyes darted to the floor. He took a deep breath before answering. "I don’t know. Maybe. I see these… flashes, like scenes from a movie, but I can’t tell if they’re real. It’s like I’m watching someone else’s life."

"Can you describe them?"

He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There’s this image… a room filled with books. I’m sitting there, writing something. I can feel this weight pressing down on me, like whatever I’m writing is important, but it’s hurting me, tearing me apart. I see a name—BTS—but it doesn’t feel real. It's like a bad dream that I can't wake up from."

Dr. Ji-ae nodded, her face thoughtful. "Do you think you wrote something for them?"

"I don’t know," Hwan-chul replied, a note of desperation in his voice. "That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know if these things actually happened or if my mind is just playing tricks on me."

"What else do you see in these dreams?" Dr. Ji-ae pressed gently, trying to guide him through the tangled web of his memories.

Hwan-chul leaned forward, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. "There’s this one scene… it’s the most vivid. I’m standing on a ledge, looking out at the city, and I feel like I’m… slipping. Like I’m about to fall." He paused, his breath hitching slightly. "But then I hear someone calling my name. It’s a woman’s voice, and it pulls me back. I don’t know who she is, but she feels… familiar."

Dr. Ji-ae’s gaze softened. "It’s possible that your mind is blending memories with dreams, creating these disjointed scenarios as a way of processing your trauma. Sometimes, traumatic events can manifest in our subconscious in confusing ways."

"But what if they’re real?" Hwan-chul asked, his voice low and almost pleading. "What if these things actually happened and I just can’t remember?"

Before Dr. Ji-ae could respond, her eyes flicked momentarily toward the double-sided mirror on the wall. Behind it, out of Hwan-chul’s sight, Dr. Min-woo, Hwan-chul’s appointed guardian, stood watching the session unfold. His expression was tense, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the man he had sworn to protect.

Dr. Min-woo’s jaw clenched as he watched Hwan-chul struggle to make sense of the fragments of his past. He had known for some time that the day would come when Hwan-chul’s repressed memories would begin to resurface. The flashes of guilt, the hallucinations, and the overwhelming confusion were all symptoms of something much deeper—something far darker.

"He’s getting closer," Dr. Min-woo muttered under his breath, though no one could hear him. "If he remembers the book… if he remembers what he did, it could break him."

Min-woo had read the book. It had been a letter to the world, a manifesto of despair wrapped in elegant prose. A warning disguised as fiction. Hwan-chul had written it for BTS before he lost himself, before the amnesia took hold. But he had hidden it. Min-woo had ensured that. He had locked it away, protecting both Hwan-chul and the world from the consequences of its words.

But Min-woo hadn’t been able to erase the past entirely. Shortly after the incident on the bridge—the day Hwan-chul had jumped, trying to escape the overwhelming noise in his mind—Jin had sent the manuscript to him. No explanation, no words, just the book. The implication was clear: Jin remembered what Hwan-chul couldn’t.

And now, as Hwan-chul edged closer to unlocking the sealed doors of his past, Min-woo’s greatest fear was becoming reality. Hwan-chul might not survive the weight of his memories when they finally broke through. And neither might the people he had written that book for.

Inside the room, Hwan-chul’s voice broke the silence again. "I just want to know who I am," he said, his voice trembling. "I want to understand why I feel like I’m drowning in memories that aren’t mine."

Dr. Ji-ae offered him a sympathetic smile. "We’ll get there, Hwan-chul. We’ll take it one step at a time. For now, it’s important to be patient with yourself. The mind has a way of protecting itself, even if it feels frustrating."

Hwan-chul leaned back in his chair, exhaustion lining his features. "I just hope it doesn’t destroy me before I can figure it out."

As Dr. Ji-ae continued to reassure him, Dr. Min-woo turned away from the mirror, his heart heavy with worry. He knew that sooner or later, Hwan-chul would have to face the truth. And when that time came, it would change everything.