Red Room. Society of.
Silence. Chapter 4.
The Hallway. Only two cards remain. 2 doors.
And for the first time in hours, neither opens right away.
Ethan leans against the wall near room 5, not pacing, not
impatient. Just waiting.
June arrives seconds later. His sketchbook is.
Closed fingers brushing the covers.
Like it itches, they lock eyes. Too long, Ethan speaks. 1st.
Calm. Unreadable.
You don't look tired, June. Shrugs you.
Don't look. Surprised.
I'm not. Silence settles.
Not cold. But practiced.
June glances towards. The sealed doors, his voice low.
3 hours, 2 left. Ethan, without turning silence,
always wins June steps. A little closer.
Not intimate. Just closer.
You always like that part, the hush the rules.
You liked breaking them? Something flickers.
Not quite a smile, not quite a wound.
June Tilt. His head.
Think they knew it be. US.
Ethan doesn't pause. They always knew.
Then a chime down the. Corridor A.
Cleaner appears silent, waiting. June starts walking.
As he brushes past. Ethan, he murmurs.
Don't die in that room. Ethan watches him go, then
answers just loud enough. Don't vanish in yours.
The Doors. Open room 1 and 2.
Room 1 stayed quiet the longer the silence.
Stretched the. More certain he became he had
been spared, but Room 2 was no longer holding back.
The door. Opened not for a senior for 2
Crimson. Robed figures.
Inside. The boy was already.
Standing as if the mirror had given him instructions no one
else could hear. One cleaner.
Step forward. No clipboard, no question.
Just a folded robe. Placed gently into his hands,
the second cleaner. Spoke barely above a whisper.
The mirrors finished with you, no hesitation as he passed
between them. A spiral.
Of ink. Coiled.
And delicate. Like a secret that had.
Always known its timing. Not a mark of punishment, a mark
of completion. He didn't speak, didn't turn.
But as the robe slipped over his shoulders.
One cleaner murmured. So soft.
It was almost a breath. It remembers who.
Served. And just like that, he stepped
beyond the. Threshold.
Not vanished. Released, the hallway held its
breath. And the mirror stayed.
Very, very still. Room 3 June.
The door. Cracked open.
Slow like. Breath drawn through teeth, June
stepped inside. Room 3 no longer smelled like
skin or sweat. The mirror hum.
No grief left hanging in the velvet.
Just bleach. 2 Crimson robe figures stood inside.
One adjusted the couch cushions with clinical care.
The other wiped. The last Crimson Trace from the.
Corner of the floor. Each motion practiced,
unflinching. June didn't speak, didn't ask
what had happened. He already knew.
One cleaner looked up, met his gaze, and nodded once.
This room no longer remembers. The second gestured.
Silently toward the hallway. Follow.
He did not because. He was told because.
Something in him. Was too.
Hollow now. To refuse the door.
Opened before. They touched it.
Doc Velvet. A glint of glass and silence
that was not empty. One cleaner step aside, voice
low and certain. This one still holds something.
Then they left. June stood alone at the.
Threshold Sketchbook. In one hand, control in the
other, both slipping and as he stepped.
Forward. Memory opened wider than the
door. Four years earlier, before there
were robes. Before.
Silence grew teeth. There were five boys.
White tank tops. Red shorts.
Too much. Curiosity.
The room was smaller back then, or maybe they were just younger.
The same velvet, the same mirror, but less knowing they
stood in a loose circle. June.
Ethan Min. Leo.
And Yuki, each pretending this was just some test.
Leo laughed nervously, the sound a little too.
Loud Yuki. Chimed in voice.
Flat. Secret society maybe?
I heard the student council president.
Did this first. Ethan frowned.
He. Was already analyzing.
Yeah. Then where's the hazing?
No beer cans, no screaming. Just velvet.
Min spoke. Quietly eyes.
Flicking toward the mirror, I don't like the humming.
They all. Paused, then, as if summoned,
the hum. Returned soft deep.
Felt more in the chest than in the ears.
June didn't speak. He just stared.
At the mirror like. He already suspected the truth.
Like part of him already knew what he became.
One by one, they signed the invitation cards.
No confetti, no ceremony, just ink names.
A moment too quiet, then. They.
Lifted the blindfolds. Min was the first to slip his
on, then Yuki, then Leo, then Ethan.
June took the longest, but when he tied it.
He tied it tight now years later.
He was untying more than just. His belt.
Room for June. The door.
Sealed behind him. Soft.
Certain absolute room 4. Exhaled A.
Heavier silence. Not emptiness, but aftermath.
The room reeked faintly. Of alcohol.
Ethan's drink still clung to the boy's.
Breath. On the velvet sofa.
He laid sprawled, eyes closed, lips parted.
Gone to some dreamless depth. Not asleep, not awake.
Just a drift. He wouldn't wake, not now.
June didn't try. He knew this kind of silence.
He'd drawn it. Before he.
Crossed the room and sat in the sofa.
The sketchbook was. Still open in his hand the.
Page. Still warm.
The face still hiss. Undone.
Exposed, he stared. At the vision of himself
captured by someone else's, his hand trace.
The page. His belt.
Loosens instinct, not performance.
One hand on paper. The other.
Slipping lower. Just the.
Quiet catching up to him, then he.
Stops because. The Mirror.
Shimmers. No, Hum.
No. Glow just.
Awareness. And in that silence.
He whispers. Not to the boy, to himself.
I didn't think I could still be drawn the cleaners in the.
Hallway 2. Crimson Row.
Figures glide. Past room for the other leans
in, voice low. They all been touched now.
The younger glances back, no retouch needed.
The other listens, not to the sound, but something deeper.
Another pause. What happens?
When to remember? The younger ask.
They'll make space for only one to walk out.
The other replies. They move on.
Toward the last door. Quiet door.
Room 5, Ethan. The door.
Shuts behind him, soft final. Ethan steps into the velvet,
drenched. Quiet.
The boy is there exactly as he was two hours ago.
Blindfolded and still, but not afraid.
There's no brace, no tension. Ethan watches longer than he
means to. Because this boy.
He didn't resist, didn't obey, didn't flinch.
Or fold or. Perform.
He just existed. Like the room itself?
Ethan kneels. Not because he must, because he
doesn't know how else to begin. Then contact Gentle.
Steady. Human.
The boy exhales. Not relief, not submission, just
acknowledgement. Ethan shift closer, not looming
but leaning, letting his body. Shape to the voice.
The couch. Groan softly beneath them.
Their knees touch. His hand brushes.
The boy's ribs bare. Warm and breathing and something
inside Ethan. The part that used to be all.
Tease and control goes still. No whispers.
No orders, no games. He closes.
His eyes, and for the first time in hours, he doesn't want to
win. He just wants to be forgiven.
He doesn't say it. But the boy's.
Stillness answers anyway, Ethan. Excels slow.
Unguarded. Four years earlier.
Back then, the Red Room was. Colder.
Brighter. Before the Velvet.
Soaked up. Everything.
The ritual. Had ended, white blindfolds
tossed aside tank tops, wrinkled knees aching from velvet floors.
Ethan remembered sitting alone, shoulders against a.
Far wall. Trying to breathe normal again,
trying to act like it hadn't changed him.
Min was curled up in the corner, arms around his knees, not
crying. Just still Leo.
And Yuki were silent too, staring at their hands like the
answers were. Supposed to.
Be written there. But it.
Was June Ethan watched Ethan hated him for that calm.
Or maybe envy did. He reached out.
Just a brush of fingers against June's arm.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing.
Staged. Just real.
June looked down at the touch, then up, smiled, and in that
second, Ethan understood something.
He couldn't admit back then, that June hadn't been calm.
He'd been holding it in. And Ethan had wanted to be 1 to
break him. Not violently, not cruelly.
Just deeply. Back then he didn't have the.
Words. Didn't have the mirror to show
him. Didn't have the boy in this room
now teaching him what Con Zen actually feels like now.
He. Exhales again, still rustling
against the boy's. Shoulder.
Still unspeaking, but different. Because the past was.
Gone. It was.
Waiting. And tonight, it was finally
catching up. The corridor.
June steps out of Room 4. The sketchbook, clutch tight to
his chest, closed this. Time.
His hands shake just slightly down the corridor.
Ethan exits Room 5. He doesn't look shaken, but he's
not. Steady either he walks.
Slower than usual, like the room left something inside him he's
still trying to name. They lock eyes across the.
Hallway not close, not far. June speaks first.
Dry, quiet. You still leave the glass half
full. Ethan stops the faintest twitch
of a smile. You used to finish it for me.
Their. Gazes hold.
No footsteps, no movement. Just breath shallow.
And deliberate June lowers. His eyes first.
Then glances at the mirror. You think it's choosing.
Ethan follows. His gaze.
It already did. A pause.
Then, June's voice softer now. Four years ago, you.
Think it saw us? Ethan doesn't blink.
It never stopped. Their hands don't reach.
Their feet don't step. Forward, but the space.
Between them. It's charged.
Waiting, and somewhere behind the velvet, the mirror listens.
2 seniors remain, one ritual ends but the mirror doesn't rest
it watched them 4. Years ago.
When they didn't know what the Red Room.
Was it watched them break? Touch, vanish and now.
It watches what's left. One hour remains and the mirror.
Is. Still waiting if something
about. This stayed with you tap like.
Leave a comment. Tell us.
What? The room whispered.
To you and if. You're still watching.
You're already inside. Subscribe because next time, the
Red Room. Chooses its.
Final nil, 5 doors and the track you're hearing now.
Five steps. The Red Room Nose is out now on
all streaming platforms. If you're listening on YouTube,
I'll leave the song link in the description below.
When Till then don't. Look away.
The mirror hates.