The lights are dark and the night is quiet. Darkness filters into the room through the curtains, harsh yellow light shining on his crumpled papers. The table is a mess, half-filled papers crumpled up and thrown around in frustration. The nib of the pen viciously scratches across the surface of the paper, tearing the page below as well. His coffee was already getting cold, droplets of water forming a dark circle on another stack of unwanted lyrics. The clock ticked slowly, almost as if to taunt him.

2:17 a.m.

Sharply pinching himself on the wrist, he reaches for the mug while trying to find that word. His pen is clunky, the weight of the world pressing down on his fingers. Ideas come to him faster than the surging river, but the words trickle out at a pitifully slow rate. Once he loved whatever he produced, but now it seemed to laugh at him, clumsy lines something even kindergarteners could come out with. Call himself Rap Monster, really. Rap Midget was more like it. Moving his numb feet around, the pen continued to hover over the papers. Heavy eyelids weighing down, he continued to compose, music from the next room passing through the thin walls forming strangely soothing background music.

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Fringe sticking to his head, he pushed it back before restarting the music again. That would not do, it was so bad Taehyung’s stuffed lion could do a better job than he did. The faint smell of sweat lingered heavily in the room, droplets forming a broken circle around him. His shoulder always shifts over too fast, his knee not bending in at the right angle. Hitting the pause button yet again, he pulls at his hair in frustration. He’s supposed to be hopeful, hell, his stage name practically commands to be. Still the gloom hovers over him like a dark cloud, and it’s difficult to smile and be cheerful when on the inside he feels like dying. Frustration eats away at him as he slams his heels harder against the wooden floor, the sharp screech unmistakable. Again he shifts too fast, and his fingernail hits the button viciously.

Dancing is still fun, but the moves are impossible to perfect. When he slows down one he messes up the next, and the whole thing is just one giant cycle of uselessness that leads to frustration. The music seems to taunt him, powerful beat reminding him of just how small and weak he is. His muscles sharply contract in protest and he can only sigh. It’s too much, he’s too weak to go on any further.

He walks out, greeted by a fresh gust of cold night air. He can hear footsteps too, the creaking sound of the old door echoing down the hallway punctuated by a resounding slam. A familiar silhouette approaches him, as comforting footsteps trail behind him. The corridor is silent now. Smudges of black ink mark the side of his palm, and they just show his frustration. Hoseok glances up and both orbs meet. Their gaze is held just long enough to know. 

It's okay. 

No words are exchanged, sneakers hitting the pavement in time. The streetlights illuminate their path back, the stars brighter than ever. Somehow the burden is lifted off their weary hands and shoulders, as they head back. There’s always tomorrow to try again, to work harder and get it right.

Namjoon flicks the lights off as usual, their dorm becoming one with the outside world. Soft sighs and snores fill the room, as darkness flows into the room once again. 

The lights are dark but the stars shine brighter. 

3:26 a.m.

A/N: I apologise if this is not what you were expecting.