The Museum of Lost Future (Taekook)
museum of lost future
Taehyung – Reincarnated, soft-hearted and artistic, feels an instant connection when seeing the letters.
Jungkook – His soul awakens in the museum, playful and teasing, but endlessly gentle with Taehyung.
Jimin – bright, supportive, pushes Taehyung to follow his heart.
Jin – Protective older brother; a bit dramatic but ultimately wants Taehyung happy.
Yoongi (Suga) – Calm and observant, offers quiet wisdom; secretly touched by their love.
Hoseok (J-Hope) – Sunshine, always cheering on Taehyung and Jungkook’s romance.
Namjoon – Museum historian/professor; helps explain that the museum isn’t cursed, but rather a gift of fate that heals broken love stories.
The rain had just stopped when Park Jimin found himself standing in front of the building that hadn’t been there yesterday.
It rose out of the mist like a dream — pale stone walls polished smooth, glass panels glistening with raindrops, and an arching entrance that seemed to breathe. Above the door, carved letters gleamed faintly under the flickering streetlight:
"𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨"
Jimin blinked, rainwater still dripping from his fringe, his umbrella hanging loosely at his side. He walked this street every day, on his way home from university. He knew every corner shop, every crack in the pavement. And yet this place… this place had appeared as though the earth itself had opened to let it through.
Curiosity tugged at him. The doors were open, a soft golden glow spilling into the damp night air. Without thinking, his feet carried him forward.
Inside, the air was warm — faintly perfumed, like old paper and pressed flowers. His shoes clicked softly against marble floors, the sound swallowed by the vast, cathedral-like silence of the hall.
Glass cases lined both sides of the corridor, stretching endlessly into shadows. Inside each: objects. A crumpled love letter. A lock of hair tied with ribbon. A pair of gloves, worn thin at the fingertips. And beneath every case, a small brass plaque etched with names and dates.
Jimin’s chest tightened. It felt less like a museum and more like… a cemetery of emotions. Lives frozen, loves unfinished, whispered promises that never reached their tomorrow.
He slowed, letting his hand hover near the glass as though the objects might shatter if he breathed too loudly. His reflection followed him — wide eyes, parted lips, the pale glow of the lamps softening his features.
Then he stopped.
Halfway down the hall, a case glimmered faintly brighter than the rest, as though the light inside it had grown restless. Drawn to it, Jimin approached, his pulse quickening.
Inside the case lay a bundle of letters, tied neatly with a black ribbon. Beside them, a sketch — unfinished, the pencil lines soft but precise. A boy’s face, only half-complete, but alive with startling detail: a sharp jawline, tender eyes, lips curved in a ghost of a smile.
And the plaque beneath it read:
𝙆𝙞𝙢 𝙏𝙖𝙚𝙝𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙜 (2025 – ?)
𝙅𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 (1885 – ?)
Jimin froze. His breath caught, fogging the glass. The names thudded in his chest like an echo. Taehyung. Jungkook.
The letters shimmered faintly under the light, as though the ink itself was trying to breathe again. And for just a second — Jimin swore the boy in the sketch turned his head ever so slightly, pencil eyes flicking toward him before stilling again.
A chill danced down his spine.
Jimin stepped back, whispering to the empty hall,
Jimin
what is this place....?
And though no one answered, the silence seemed to sigh, as if the walls themselves held their breath — waiting.
whispers behind glasses
Jimin let out a shaky laugh, his voice bouncing against the marble walls.
Jimin
(whispering): “You’re going crazy, Jimin. Talking to sketches now? Great.”
He pressed a hand against the cool glass of the display, the bundle of letters almost glowing beneath his touch. His fingers hovered an inch away, as though crossing that invisible line might break some unspoken rule.
Jimin
(softly): “Kim Taehyung… Jeon Jungkook…”
The names tasted strange on his tongue. Old. Heavy. Like words pulled from a dream he wasn’t supposed to remember.
He crouched a little, reading the plaque again carefully, his breath fogging the brass.
Jimin
“Dates missing… question marks. Did they… did they disappear?”
The silence pressed close, but instead of frightening him, it wrapped around him like a secret waiting to be shared.
Jimin straightened and tilted his head at the sketch. The boy’s half-finished face stared back at him, lips caught in the suggestion of a smile. For the first time, Jimin noticed how soft the pencil strokes were around the eyes — almost tender, like the artist had lingered there the longest.
Jimin
(muttering): “Someone loved you a lot, huh? Whoever drew this…”
He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing against his jeans as if resisting the urge to reach into the past and smooth those lines himself.
He stepped closer, whispering almost conspiratorially.
Jimin
“Are you watching me right now? Is that why it felt like you moved? …You did, didn’t you?”
The museum gave no answer. But Jimin swore — swore — the faintest shimmer flickered over the letters, like candlelight bending across ink.
His throat went dry. He leaned in, whispering lower.
Jimin
“If someone hears me talking to paper, I’m doomed. But… if you can hear me, if you’re in there somewhere… I’ll come back. I’ll bring someone who should see this.”
He swallowed hard, the promise hanging heavy in the warm air. His reflection in the glass looked back at him — wide-eyed, almost childlike with wonder.
As he stepped away, the echo of his footsteps filled the hall. But just before the door closed behind him, Jimin thought he heard it — the faintest brush of a voice, like a page turning
Jimin froze, heart racing, and whispered to himself with a nervous grin.
Jimin
“Okay. I’m definitely coming back.”
And with that, he disappeared into the rainy Seoul night, the golden glow of the museum fading behind him like a secret stitched into the dark.
the invitation
The café was warm against the drizzle outside. Steam curled lazily from cups of coffee, fogging the windows, softening the neon glow of Seoul’s evening.
Jimin sat hunched over his mug, stirring absentmindedly though the drink had already gone cold. His mind wasn’t on the café chatter, or the faint music playing in the background. It was on the sketch. The letters. The whispered voice he could have sworn he heard.
Jimin looked up. Kim Taehyung slid into the seat across from him, scarf still damp from the rain. His dark hair clung slightly to his forehead, his sharp eyes softened by curiosity as he tilted his head.
Taehyung
“You sounded urgent on the phone. Did something happen?”
Jimin exhaled, realizing he’d been gripping his spoon too tightly. He set it down, clasping his hands together on the table to still them.
Jimin
Yeah… something happened. But not in the way you think
Taehyung raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with that quiet patience he always carried. He was used to Jimin’s dramatics, but there was something in Jimin’s tone that made him straighten.
Taehyung
Okay. I’m listening.
Jimin bit his lip, searching for words. How did you explain something that shouldn’t exist?
Jimin
On my way home last night… there was this building. A museum.”
Taehyung frowned slightly.
Taehyung
A museum? Around your street? I’ve walked there a hundred times with you. There’s no museum
Jimin
(nodding quickly): “That’s what I thought too. But it was there. Big, bright, impossible to miss. Like it had always been there. And when I went inside…”
He trailed off, fingers tightening around his coffee cup. His eyes flicked up to meet Taehyung’s, steady and earnest.
Jimin
Hyung, I saw your name. On a plaque. In one of the exhibits
The café noise seemed to dim. Taehyung blinked slowly, as though Jimin had just spoken in another language.
Jimin
Yeah. Not just yours. Another name too. Jeon Jungkook.
Taehyung’s hand stilled halfway to lifting his cup. Something flickered across his expression — confusion, yes, but also a faint recognition, like hearing a melody he couldn’t place.
Taehyung
(softly): “Jungkook…”
The syllables lingered in the air, weighty, almost reverent. Jimin noticed. His chest tightened.
Jimin
There were letters. Dozens of them. Tied with a ribbon. And a sketch — half-finished, but hyung, it looked so real. Like the artist had drawn him straight out of love. The plaque had both your names. And the dates were strange… empty. Question marks.
Taehyung leaned forward now, eyes dark and searching.
Taehyung
Are you sure you weren’t dreaming, Jimin?”
Jimin
(firmly): “I know how it sounds. But I’m not lying. I touched the glass, I saw it glow. And…” — he hesitated, swallowing hard — “I think… I think something inside that case was alive.”
Taehyung didn’t laugh. He didn’t scoff. He simply stared at Jimin, silent, his thumb rubbing absently against the edge of his cup.
Jimin
(nodding quickly): “Like… like it was waiting for someone. For you.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Taehyung’s gaze dropped to the table, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His voice came out quieter, thoughtful.
Taehyung
All my life, I’ve had these dreams. Of letters. Ink-stained hands. Candlelight… someone calling my name, but I never see his face. I wake up and feel like I’ve lost something important
Jimin
(softly): “Hyung… then maybe this is it. Maybe the museum isn’t just some random place. Maybe it’s… for you.”
Taehyung looked up, eyes shining with something unreadable — fear, hope, maybe both. He let out a low chuckle, but it trembled slightly.
Taehyung
You’re telling me to follow you to some mysterious building that shouldn’t exist… because it has my name and a stranger’s written together?
Jimin
(earnestly): “Not just written. Connected. Like a story waiting for its ending.”
Taehyung studied him for a long moment. The café hummed softly around them — clinking cups, murmured conversations, the faint hiss of the espresso machine. But in their little corner, time seemed to still.
Finally, Taehyung sighed, tugging his scarf loose and leaning back in his chair.
Taehyung
…Fine. Show me. If it’s real, I’ll go
Jimin’s lips curved into a relieved smile, a mix of nerves and excitement sparking in his chest.
Jimin
Good. Because I swear, hyung… it’s not just a museum. It’s something more. And I think it’s been waiting for you all along
Outside, the rain began again, soft against the windows, as though the city itself was listening.
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