"Don't you think it's odd?" The pink of his hair so vibrantly contrasts against his grimey black jeans.

"Hm?" The mumble resonates through his ribs, the ticklish sensation caressing his thighs.

"That I only see you in my dreams." His long fingers trace lines along his scalp, his hair like pink seaweed draped along his hand.

The sounds of the forest seem to impregnate the silence; the wind weaving its way through leaves, and the sound of a river flowing in the distance. Butterflies carefully perch on low lying flowers, the sounds of their wings flapping only heard by few.

A swing suddenly creaks, the thick branch it hangs on bobbing ever so slightly, "That's up to you, isn't it Seokjin?" It's the glint in his eyes behind the mixture of coffee brown and mint green strands, that makes his words seem all the more seething.

But from his peripheral, a striking red emerges, "Don't be rude Taehyung. He doesn't really have a choice when it's us that are haunting his dreams." His scarlet coat contrasts with his teal hair, similar to the way blood would in glimmering emerald waters.

"No Yoongi-hyung, Taetae's right. It's Seokjin's choice, though fault would better describe it." Like a copper-haired fairy, he prances and dances around them, bubbles seeming to simply appear from his palms, giggling as the delicate spheres burst on the hard surfaces of the forest.

He's looking back down at his lap again, "Namjoon." The other looks up, "Namjoon." His eyes turn glassy as tears well up, "Namjoon." The younger of the two reaches up, the fingernail of his index finger catching the droplet but he doesn't touch Seokjin.

"Don't cry hyung," he breathes out the last word, "Sorry."

It's the tap-tap of wood against wood that almost startles Seokjin, "Youth is hard hyung, but we didn't have a choice either. But everyone is right, only you can choose what happens next, the same way we did." The silky yet playful nature of his earthy brown hair suits him, Seokjin thinks to himself as the other drags a broken branch behind him, tapping on various ground dwelling beings.

A blue butterfly floats down, fluttering only inches from his face. A voice speaks up from above, sitting on a reasonably high branch like a puppeteer and the