hoseok shoots up in bed, panting. it's too hot, he's too sweaty, the room's too dark—

he kicks the blankets that have bunched up around his waist and starts frantically turning to look for his boyfriends. his boyfriends that mean safety, love—

"jinnie? joonie?" he sobs quietly when his efforts prove futile. he curls in from the world, long fingers drawing pink on his face. that's what he's always done as a kid, what he's always done now, because he may be the sunshine of their relationship, but he has dark thoughts and dark dreams like this; dark things constantly at the edge of his mind.

"seokie?" a whisper sounds as the door to the 's bedroom opens. the voice is familiar—so very familiar. the warm almond eyes that make their way into his vision are familiar, too, but hoseok doesn't know who he is. "seokie, hey, what's wrong?" the man says softly, grasping hoseok's wrists and pulling them down, revealing red-rimmed eyes and angry red marks, painting a picture of pain.

his heart breaks at the sight.

hoseok's hands now find victim in his matted hair, pulling hard as he cries harder. "hey, hey, baby," the man tuts, gently bringing hoseok's hands down. "don't do that, yeah?" hoseok doesn't resist when the man pulls him into an embrace, burrowing into his wool-knit sweater and breathing in the familiar scent of flowers and cologne. he hoseok’s hair, cording his fingers into red locks, brushing his bangs back. it’s therapeutic, and hoseok unconsciously relaxes, even just a little. without him realizing, another pair of arms have enveloped hoseok, caging him in safety. he closes his eyes, because he knows he’s safe—knows that the arms are a barrier against the evil plaguing him.

his convulsing cries gradually slow, but his hands still stay clenched around the navy material, chest still heaving. he slowly recognizes the men as his lovers, his boyfriends of four years. seokjin and namjoon both look at him with concern, and hoseok hates himself for being the one to place the concern there. “’m fine,” he mutters. “was just a nightmare.”

namjoon scoffs. “i think the not. what kind of nightmare leads to a panic attack?” seokjin shoots him a sharp look, but agrees nonetheless. “joon’s right, seokie. that was scary. what happened?” and all of a sudden hoseok’s eyes start tearing up again. “i—i was—”

i am in a pure white room, and the walls, floor are all padded. i hear footsteps, and the sound of a door being opened. my door?

the scratch of pen on paper is audible a few moments later, and the footsteps sound again, but this time, getting softer and softer.

the sheer quietness of the room makes the ticking of the sole ornament in the room, a white clock, that much more prominent. all of a sudden, the ticking is buried by another sound—the result of two chutes from the walls either side of me opening and starting to rain orange-white pills. my hand reaches out on its own accord. i should take them since i'm in a padded cell, right?

as i swallow a pill, it seems to take effect immediately, plunging my vision into colour.

the room is no longer white, but instead the walls are coated in neon paint that glows florescent in the uv light of the room. i reach out to touch the paint. some of it crumbles into flakes, some of it sticks my hands. the goo coating the walls become a kaleidoscope of colours.

i try to get out of the hellish room, tearing at the walls, making the padding—feathers—fly out. i collapse out of exhaustion, only to wake up and see the room is back to normal, albeit with pills littering every square feet of the floor and the neon graffiti on the walls. there's sunlight streaming into the room, too. i walk towards the door, where the sunlight seems to be coming from.

there are the melodic sounds of birds chirping, water running—which should be impossible since i'm in a mental institution. but as i peer through the slit in the door, i see a picturesque landscape of blue mountains and trees, with heavy fog rolling over the scene. as i open my door, though, i discover that it is actually a painting, a too realistic painting. the room is lone, a single rectangular block, with walls made of aluminium, unlike my earlier assumptions that i was in a institution.

there's something—some things—in the left pocket of my silk nightwear, weighing my pants down. more of those godforsaken pills, and—a bar of chocolate.

i open the wrapping of the chocolate bar, biting into it as i survey the painting. it morphs into one of a woman holding a baby in her arms.

“oh baby, you know that was just a dream, right? it’s not real,” namjoon coos. seokjin takes hoseok’s face in his arms. “focus on the real things. focus on us. ” hoseok leans into their hold, and they sit in complete and utter silence, except for their breathing. hoseok suddenly catches sight of their alarm clock. 3 in the morning. “what were you guys doing at three in the morning?” he pulls back to ask them suspiciously. namjoon chuckles nervously. “we were…uh—” hoseok glares at him impatiently.

seokjin sighs, “it’s your birthday, baby.”

hoseok then notices the slight dusting of flour on their hands, namjoon’s eye bags and messy and slightly greasy—ew what the —hair. “so you guys were…baking?” hoseok asks. “yes, you dolt,” seokjin says, flicking his forehead. "or tried to help, in my case." namjoon mutters, making hoseok giggle. “we were planning to surprise you, but you woke up way too early”

“that doesn’t mean you can’t surprise me now,” hoseok says cheekily.

with all thoughts of the nightmare gone, he’s more cheerful now, all back to normal. the couple holding him mentally sighs in relief. “would it still be considered a surprise, baby?” namjoon scoffs. he gets him out of bed, all the while ignoring his exasperated “i can walk, you know?”.

namjoon sets him down on the kitchen counter, seokjin getting his cake, decorated with white frosting and a variety of nuts, out from underneath a overturned pot. seokjin had told him once that he used this tactic to keep flies away. namjoon dashes out of the room, returning with his computer in hand. seokjin sticks a few candles into the cake then lights them with a lighter hoseok didn’t even know they had.

“make a wish,” he singsongs. hoseok grins as he closes his eyes.

i wish these two beautiful, caring men will never leave me. i wish they will forever be healthy, be happy. i wish they always have enough in this world, always have what they need, what they wish for, because they’re the lights of my world, they’re what makes me happy, and i know i never want to leave them.

and as they eat the cake and listen to namjoon’s piece that he composed oh so carefully for his birthday, hoseok knows that he meant every single word of that wish.