Kim Seokjin stared, his expression as bleak as the photograph in his hands.

One moment of clarity, darkly transparent and tangible thoughts, and everything comes flooding back. He can’t cry, not again, he hasn’t cried in weeks, and probably won’t again. Not only does he not have the energy left in him, but that would require a level of emotions that he long relinquished.

He often enjoys the universe he’s created in his mind, but he always recognises it as merely a deep-seated lucid dream-- he can lose himself in every second, every smile, and every hug, and the hours pass with no need of recollection, but yet still his neurons crawl with the knowledge that it isn’t real.

The polaroid is, though. That’s as real as the flesh on his body.

The reminder that the photo brings, that he is as alone as the sun peeking above the horizon and seering into his eyes, is also real. It feels like thousands of microscopic needles raise along his skin as all of his senses take in reality-- a place he can’t live in any longer but can’t bring himself to leave permanently behind.

To escape. To run from.

He couldn’t. But they could, and did.

They were the ones that could keep their promises to each other, and they were rewarded for it with peace and togetherness.

Seokjin, though, was punished for his lack of integrity, his only reprise being the purgatory that was his vivid imagination.

The white-backed photograph fell to the floor of the truck, his hands suddenly gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned snow white. The tears were gone, but the shrill scream of regret still sometimes echoed in his head. His being was filled like a cup, a liquid layer of emotions that was so difficult to express-- fear of being alone, of being abandoned and left behind; an abyssal longing to join them but his cowardice pinning him to this earth; anger at himself for knowing, truly, he was the one to leave them; a masochistic contentedness that he deserved this penance for his dire choices.

하늘이 파래서 햇살이 빛나서
내 눈물이 더 잘 보이나 봐

As he let the wave of emotional incapacity wash over him, he slowly let go of the steering wheel and let his hands fall limply to his sides, not feeling the bruising pain as his fingers struck the gear shift. He stared blankly toward the rising sun, not once noticing the burning in the back of his eyes.

He felt a sort of sleepiness trickle through him, bringing a level of warmth and comfort not unlike that of a mother swaddling her child. He pulled his arms inward and hugged himself, smiling gently and relaxing into the ethereal embrace; his broad shoulders, previously wrought with the tension of confusion and chaos, settled into the pliable plush of the driver’s seat, completing the feeling of calmness he was accepting.

The soft crashing of the ocean outside the truck’s windows began to fade to his ears, taken over by a new set of sounds appearing.

Laughter, it sounded like. Yes. It was.

That was distinctly Jimin’s. He was wrestling with Hoseok in the bed of the truck.

“Did you manage to sleep?”

At the spoken question, he glanced to the once-empty passenger seat, over to Min Yoongi rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. The colour of his friend’s hair was as light as the sand outside, and the distinct gummy grin on his face was as brilliant as the sunrise as they both listened to the antics outside.

His world. All of this-- just one beautiful moment in life.

Pulling himself from his musing, Seokjin mumbled a quiet, “... what?”

“We gotta drive home today. I wanna make sure you’re up for it.”

Smiling to himself and looking back forward again, his eyes taking in the painting of a sky in front of him, Seokjin nodded, eyelids fluttering shut as he let the laughter and cries of playfulness echo through his mind.

“Yes. I slept, and I dreamt.”